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Saturday, November 01, 2008, 07:00
The morning sky was misty grey,
The granite stones, like sentinels there.
Grim and cold, in the morning air.
Grey were my thoughts too hurrying by
thinking perhaps of mornings gone by
when I dallied along with sun for my guide
And a chat sometimes with a passer-by.
But now, almost winter time
People hurry along
A nod, "good morning". Then they rush on
With never a glance at autumn's show;
New reds and ambers, all aglow.
But though for a while, the trees will be bare
And frost and cold may fill the air.
Soon, soon, we will see the days grow long
And the park will be filled with sweet birdsong
And bluebells will sway again at our feet
And the air all around will be pure and sweet.
Meg Thomas
Parkway, Sketty, Swansea
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