Poems

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Mid-March in Chepstow

“If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?” wrote Shelley.
As spring comes, March watches over its first steps.

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Sailing South

Our ship was all we needed then. Our ship was all our need.

Old Father Time

This poem is just “a flight of fancy” that I wrote many years ago.

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On Days Like This

We miss the weather we were raised with. After all, it is a lifelong friend.

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Still Heard?

Does anyone read poetry these days? Does anyone still read a poem aloud, just for the pleasure of hearing the music?