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The seedling


Plant a seed in your garden,

Plant a seed in your heart,

Plant that seed for a loved one,

For someone who is far apart.

Watch the seed grow in your garden,

And cherish the love that it gives,

With patience and understanding,

You have given beauty to a thing that lives.

They wish to give you notice,

For the way you have tended that seed,

The way that you have nourished it,

And water for it to feed.

Your heart can be a barren place,

When you have lost someone above,

You must tend to it very gently,

And water it with love.

So treat it just like your seedling,

And tend to it with care,

For your loved one is always with you,

And your love they will always share.

Malcolm Bradshaw

My little Green Friend

 
There was a little caterpillar,
I called him hairy Fred
He was searching round my garden,
Looking for a bed
He couldn’t find one leaf,
Or even a flower-pot
All there was, was soil,
My mum had cleared the lot
He crawled and wriggled some more,
Until finally he gave up
He had searched every corner,
And looked in every nook
He settled on the bin house,
And curled up for his snooze
Tomorrow he will search elsewhere,
And hopefully not lose.
Abbe  Cutforth

MY LITTLE VISITOR

Hello little robin
wearing your scarlet red vest
how dainty yet proud you are
seeking food for your nest

the feeders are flowing
fresh seed to the brim
so go call the others to come delve in

Now perched on the bird bath looking fully fed
surveying surroundings for your next daily bread
please  please visit again little bird for you
  bring comfort I feel safe
with thoughts of someone so loved and missed can’t come

      sends you to me in his place
               x

By Sandra Cameron

NOTTINGHAM POET

The cottage

 

 

I came across a cottage,

That stood amongst some trees,

And smoke from the chimney,

Was being fanned by a gentle breeze.

 

The cottage fire was burning,

You could see it through the door,

The sweet smell of burning logs,

From the stack upon the floor.

 

The crackle from the fire,

It looked so very warm,

The old man tends his garden,

In clothes all ripped and torn.

 

In a rocking chair a sweet old lady sits,

With hair of silver gray,

Sunrays peeping through the trees

On this summer’s day.

 

The garden decked with flowers,

With primroses round my feet,

The birds they were singing,

They sang so very sweet.

 

The smell of new made bread,

That carried on the breeze,

Little animals playing in the sun,

As they dart amongst the trees.

 

A scarecrow in the field stands,

To frighten away the birds,

It was a picture that I saw,

So I put it into words.

Malcolm Bradshaw

Autumn By Malcolm Bradshaw

My front garden

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