Poems and Prose

hibiscus1.jpg (8193 bytes) Poems and Prose

My Aunt Ginette, who lives in the U.K.,is a talented poet and I am proud to be able to share some of her work with the rest of the world.

(written in Spring of 1936)

Grown-Ups	(April 1942)
I'm fed up with the grown-ups,	Springtime
They can be an awful bind;	April with its sunshine,
They simply want to boss you all the time!		and intermittent showers,
They never give you credit	Is the month of happiness,
For having your own mind,		of budding trees and flowers
And, anyway, to speak up is a crime!	Daffodils of yellow
		swaying in the breeze,
I'll be glad when I am a grown-up,	Bowing down their golden heads
But I'll be a different kind,		with such graceful ease.
I'll let my children, sometimes have their say!	Bluebell blankets in the woods
You wait, I'm sure I'll find		of such a lovely hue
That that's the treatment that will pay!	Buttercups and crocuses
Kids haven't really changed have they?		peeping through the blue
		soft-scented wild primrose
	Which, often I have gathered up,
		forming into posies
	The budding trees are signs of spring;
		birds are gaily singing,
	Such beautiful gifts of Mother Earth
		bring pleasant thoughts a-winging.

(October 1964)
The Yacht Race
White sheets billowing high;
Tall masts touching the sky;
Sharp bows thrust through the water,
	cutting, slicing the wind-tossed sea.

Soft clouds scurrying past;
Gulls scream, swooping and fast;
Wings spread over water.
	dipping, floating the wind-tossed sea.

The other yachts down in the harbour,
nestle, snug in the sheltered bay;
Swiftly, turn, we'll sail to leeward!
We've had enough of this wind today.
For it's whipped our hair and slashed our faces;
	Come on, let's call an end to the races.


March 1969
The Resurrection

The sun goes down.
A great red circle in the sky,
Cut in halves by a flippant streak of cloud.
He hovers, omnipotent, proud;
A blaze of dying glory,
Vivid against the creamy sky,
Taking his final glimpse of the world he is passing by
	for yet another while.
And, as he dips
	and drowns in the distant sea;
then so do we,
	dip, and drown.
Our day's pursuits are near their end.
Like that great sun our strength has waned
	until
	we, too, must sleep.
But, come the dawn we turn
	and peep
towards the East, and feast our eyes on that horizon.
And when we see that glorious sun
	shed of his robes of red,
	gleaming white,
	and bright with life anew,
We know that with this newborn day
	we too are born again.
That is life's way.