Frank Ian Bowen Biography

Listen to that waterfall. It ripples along that old stone wall.
A sound that can spell bind all those who hear.
It’s a noise that will never be associated with fear
That rippling sound conjures up mental views
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As hips are bent with backs so low
The world sees builders’ bums on show
There’s lots of them both large and small
Belonging to builders short and tall
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When Guinevere was locked in cell
She sounded off a MEGA-YELL!
‘Save me, save me’ she cried so hard.
The king is cruel, he’s marked my card.
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I gazed in awe at this beauty in wood,
in the soft morning light she suited my mood,
mellow in colour, soft browns and golds,
and I wondered what stories about her are told.
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Ranks of cloud clothe hilltop’s crown,
as the hot African sun slips slowly down,
with reds, orange and purple tints.
Who knows what tomorrow hints?
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