Lucy Burrow

Rookie - 40 Points (1961 / Nigeria, West Africa)

Lucy Burrow Poems

1. Remorse 10/26/2005
2. Tender Haiku 1/3/2006
3. Happy New Year? 1/3/2006
4. I Think Of You 10/26/2005
5. Emigrant's Lullaby 1/22/2006
6. Port Quinn 10/24/2005
7. 2005 Hurricane Season 10/25/2005
8. Sandcastles 10/26/2005
9. A New Year Dawned For Me 1/3/2006
10. Was It A Night Like This? 12/23/2005
11. Jackaby Street 11/11/2005
12. Farewell To Autumn 11/6/2005
13. Hopton's Victory 10/26/2005
14. Give Me The Blood Red Poppy 11/11/2005
15. Come Join The Circle 11/9/2005
16. Remembered? 11/13/2005
17. Home Of My Heart 10/25/2005
18. The Autumning 10/22/2005
19. Mothers Prayer Against The Bullies 11/7/2005
20. In Praise Of Ale! 11/8/2005
21. All Is Quiet On The Western Front 11/11/2005
22. The Earth Mother 10/25/2005
23. Springsong 11/8/2005
24. On A May Evening 10/24/2005
25. Battlefield Tree 10/25/2005
26. Voice In The Wilderness 11/12/2005
27. The Call Of Duty 11/11/2008
28. Jacky Frost 1/9/2006

Comments about Lucy Burrow

  • Joseph Daly (12/30/2005 4:49:00 AM)

    Lucy is a traditionalist, but that is not an insult. Her works display a highly disciplined approach and can be imformative and humourous at the same time. Do not reject Lucy because she choses to write in a traditional form.

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Best Poem of Lucy Burrow

Jacky Frost

When Summers blue sky fades to grey
And swiftly ends the shortening day,
When coldness takes the flowers away
Ill dance the dance of winter!
Over hedges see me trip
To frost the leaf and haw and hip,
To petrify each sparkling drip
And dance the dance of winter.
Ill fade the roses red to white,
Redress the landscape in one night!
Make the cobwebs crisp and white
And herald in the winter.
I’ll tiptoe over lawns and trees
The water pipe I soon shall freeze,
Ill bring transport to its knees!
And turn all things to winter
In leafy Hollows, see ...

Read the full of Jacky Frost

Battlefield Tree

I’m the tree on the battlefield – a pitiful sight
I watch as the bullets fly to left and to right
I’m the tree that’s watched blood flow from every man’s heart
I’m the tree on the battlefield, half blown apart.

It’s many the year I’ve stood firm in this soil
Where centuries farmers, long time they did toil
There used to be ten of us handsome and tall
And I’ve stood and I’ve wept as each brother did fall

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