This week’s readers’ poems are by Muriel Coy and Gillian Fisher
Still and silent, crisp and cold the air, perceive the artist at work, take care;
With brush so light his gentle touch portrays a scene so magic in its winter phase,
The tracings of each branch against the sky, laced with frost then tipped with dew now seems,
Each silver birch, bespangled, heads held high, whilst shrubs and hedgerows bathed in sunlight gleams.
This mantle worn with such an array of grace, a bridal veil upon sweet virgin soil,
Depicts each blade of grass with one’s pace, so tread you softly, lest you spoil,
Each cobweb in the fern, both leaf and brittle twig can be, so beautiful in white, beyond compare!
A masterpiece of winter’s filigree, which only took one night to place it there.
AN AUTUMN BOUQUET
is best left flowering,
unpicked, except for church.
This season’s faintly powering
last leaves to stay upon the birch.
More fetchingly, than cellophane
low-lying spiders’ webs veil stems,
bearing blooms gatherers obtain
to fill the chapel vases with gems
only God crafts. The pink, gold, mauve
Michaelmas daisies and chrysanths
in jug, and urn; their splendours rove
to windows, and altar, to enchant...
being the last gifts of September, when the setting sun’s an ember.
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