We had so much fun, didn't we nan !
You were my bestest friend.
Getting up to mischief, any problem we could mend.
Rolling on the floor with laughter, tears streaming down our face.
How lucky was I, that you were mine, we had no time to waste.
Caravanning holidays, a great time by the sea.
Paddling, building castles, you, mum and me.
I still love sweetcorn relish, you put in cheese sarnies for our tea. I wish I knew back then there is no eternity.
Then as I grew older, I could see that you did too
That didn't change our friendship, but I was scared of loosing you.
On that night you had to leave, in my sleep you visited me.
Your face so bright and close to mine. You were smiling.
Thankyou, for such a great time !
I've not, in truth, knowing the late Ms. Carolyn,
It might be owing I am quite late to come in;
It's when I know about her from you, dear masters,
And learn you've found in her love's true lasting treasures;
Wildfire of adore, I feel, burning in! Spreading!
As the feelings underwent by, you, tears-shedding!
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Understand, please, my forms are betraying me here,
I've forgotten all styles taught by you to endear!
See how the very thought of death makes me forget,
Each feeling I've been treasuring in my sachet!
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Sentiments that you've been sharing of her sweetly,
Indeed, you've been loving her forever fondly!
It's this makes my mad mind to tell you so sternly,
Death has succeeded in making you feel lowly!
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Carolyn is not dead! She's caravanning! Feel!
She's researching on grave and coffin, with great zeal!
When she's out, kindly, convey my wishes to her!
Ask her to compose me, rhyme on her study rare!
15 August 2021
Tributes to Carolyn Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
The Sheep are nearly to the gate
but seem to wait, their shepherd’s late,
some are bleating loudly now,
others grazing, humbly bow
some are wandering far away
Shepherd unaware they stray
some seem to blame the lowing cows
caravanning from the south
escaping slaughterhouses foul
her calves are bleating weakly now
mother, tired, licks their brow
hoping shepherds from the North
will meet them kindly with food and work
she doesn't see the sharp pitchforks
and what these shepherds have in store..