Douglas Gibson Poems

A woman wanders through the fields
And idly makes a daisy-chain.
The world is gold; the afternoon
...

Serene as ever waits the tireless train,
The signals blink their wistful lamps beyond
The misty roof, and surely once again
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The secret dream, the young hope curled
In this dark winter of the world
cannot endure, cannot remain
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How good to come again by gay red coach
Through mile on mile of country white with snow,
Past grey-green hangars where the tired planes rest
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Sun dappled apple-green leaves are dripping
Wet gold slowly down into long grass;
Rainbow-hued dancing drops poised on thorns
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Upon the tranquil evening suddenly falls
The long-awaited passion of the rain,
A gushing silver torrent, spilling
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After the ambulance that shakes
The urgent bell that comes and goes
Along the street, the silence wakes
within my heart a million woes.
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The late evening sun falls over the fields
Turning the newly ploughed furrows to fire,
Touching briefly the young buds on the trees
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It is not that my heart grieves
For these burnt-out Autumn leaves,
But for the green,
Taken before their time,
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'Aren't they beautiful in the sun!' she said,
Shading her youthful eyes against the light,
In rapturous wonder at the bombers' flight,
...