Gorse Hill. - Poem by Miki Byrne
From the hill the villages stand toy-like
In their huddling space.
The river runs sedately, a silver ribbon
Threading through this greening place.
Gorse is showing now- bright tips of gold
And patchwork fields spread out
Over valley and wold.
Soft mist rising blurs the silhouette
Of trees and roofs, of churchly spires,
And yet, the sound of bells hangs softly
Over the vale as snowdrops lift
Their tiny heads so frail.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You