Malvern Hills
The Malvern Hills, they rise and soar
Above the Vale of Evesham's floor.
When at the top a heart stands still
and ones eyes with pleasure fill
The wheat and barley fields below
where clover and delphiniums grow.
A giants quilt is laid outspread
above a valley bathed in red.
The sun is setting, its time to go.
Do you hear the music flow?
Enigma Variations, sweet and strong
Nimrod played where it does belong.
The Dream of Gerontius written here
The hand of Elgar seems so near.
When I depart this beauteous land
Let me recall the adroit hand
That waved, and let the music flow
Across the valley floor below.
Sagazone Coven
As a coven of Chatterbelles we adorn the net
A group of six woman, in fact a sextet.
Six men united what name for them?
Are they artists or poets, writers or sportsmen?
Grumpy or happy, witty or sad
Blogs and stories often good never bad.
Who shall we chose for this elite band?
and what shall we call them?, nothing too grand.
Funky Farmer of course must head up the list
A missive from him should never be missed.
Then Blue Monday our own dear Dan,
lifting our hearts, as only he can.
Jovial Geoff comes high on my list
Witty and funny an amazing artist.
Then Cornishman Alan who walks London town,
seeing the sights and writing them down.
Jake the writer what can we say,
we are so lucky he wandered this way.
Finally Peter K the poems he pens
Of heartbreak and sadness, of love and lost friends.
What name shall we give them?
these six gorgeous men
Collectively then how shall they be known?
The Six Packs forever is the choice of my own.
Gill (Kanga)