This poem is a tribute to my late father, read as a eulogy at his funeral. Dad enjoyed life and was a friendly, always happy person, who loved being outdoors, especially in his garden and allotment. The poem celebrates the the things he enjoyed and shared with us when we were younger..
Seasons of Life
Spring
A new March dawns and Spring awakes
The gardener surveys his plot
Beds are weeded and soil is raked
New seeds are planted into pots.
Early walkers, golden sunrise
Long grass sniffing runs faithful hound
Startled skylark sings to the skies
Mushrooms collected, breakfast bound.
Down to the woodlands verdant floor
Splashing stream runs in shady glade
May’s bluebell carpet, scent galore
A vibrant blue that’s heaven-made.
In Spring but also all year round,
When the family congregate
Sundays in Darton to be found
Giant Yorkshire Pudding on the plate.
Summer
The push of the Qualcast green and red
Fountains of grass through whirring blades
Emptied grass box on compost bed
Green lawn striped with alternate shades.
Wriggling worms on bent pin hook
Leaning over pond, not too far.
Curious minnow takes a look
And joins the tadpoles in the jar
Holidays by the Yorkshire coast
Scarborough, Brid and Flambro’ Head,
Caravan home we loved the most
Walks on the cliff top before bed.
Ice creams, windmills, buckets and spades
In sand built speedboat take a ride
Sandcastle tower flags parade
Washed away by the rising tide
Leather on willow, straw hatted
Summer deckchair, radio loud
Live from Lords as Boycott batted
Ten wicket trophy, very proud
Autumn
It’s harvest time and down in Scholes
Allotment yields its bumper crops
‘Taties unearthed and beans from poles
Chat over wall when locals stop.
Volvo glides up the homeward lane,
With biggest parsnips ever seen,
Beetroot pot’s on the boil again
Cabbages in lush folds of green.
Darker nights making advances
The trolley rattles down the hill
Hang on tight we’ll take our chances
As woodland bound we share the thrill.
Fill the trolley with bonfire wood
Back up the hill much slower now
We pushed hard, but weren’t so good
To save our Dad from sweated brow.
November 5th our bonfire stood
A monument to all that’s good
In someone who toiled sweat and blood
To bring it all up from the wood.
Our neighbours came from all around
To watch Guy Fawkes go up in flames
On bonfire burning to the ground
With fireworks, parkin, fun and games.
Winter
The soil is turned in winter time
Allotment earth is cold and bare
The Brussel Sprouts are in their prime
Freshly picked for Christmas day fare
When sparkling snow covers the ground
A sledge is built to beat the rest
On snowy hill top we’ll be found
Hold on tight and over the crest
At Christmas time we’re at the Bay
Carling Black Label, pint of Stones
Ken, Sheila, Barbara and Ray,
Songs and laughter and click of bones.
Though Winter seems to never end
Snowdrops soon lift their dainty heads
Tools to clean, and tools to mend
Tidy up things in garden sheds.
So kettle boiled and mash the tea
And in the Gardening Year book
Turning the page to thirty-three
And you will see them if you look
Those life enhancing words that say
The gardener works as a part
Of nature’s rhythms and this way
With March the yearly cycle starts.
All Seasons
Dad made it last his whole life long,
Four score and eight years, just one thing
His love of life through joy of song
Any place, full voice we heard him sing!
So sing, sing a song, now you are
In heaven with the angels too
And we know that it’s not too far
From the song in our hearts to you.
(c)2017 G. Smith
