Humble, prickly, yet nearly a golden sea
Of gorse this time of year engulfs my soul,
Rippling delight down the yellowed freeway
As I travel into dusk, evokes whole -
Hearted rush to motor home. Gorsey moors
And silver hedgerows fill my Cornish mind
At springtime. I insist all city doors
Be shut, and along with high-life, leave behind
All fetid air, to reach this countryside,
Where hill flowers, banking down to brush my feet
Join nodding daffodils. Seems, far and wide,
Spring is spilling over me. Then, replete
With restful air and quiet, have of course
To leave the heavenly scent of yellowed gorse.
Beautiful piece Fay...you paint the countryside so well...it's like taking a walk through it reading your poem...thank you...Fi 10+++
great rhymes and rhythm Fay! I loved the poetic flow and imagery...............10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice fresh poem about the yellow gorse, which has a distinctive smell which can be brought to mind, thanks Fay, 10 Lynda xx