POETRY

Dorothy F Hill Bradshaw wrote the following poems. She is a friend of the Earl and Countess of Dundee and was present at the Clan Gathering at Birkhill where she kindly recited these poems.

THE SOUNDS OF NATURE

These are the sounds I love to hear,

So soft and soothing to my ear,

Of Nature’s offerings every day.

Like wavelets running in the Bay.

And like the soft wind in the trees

I find the humming of the bees

Uplifting to my weary mind

The sweetest balm for humankind.

Just listen to the lark above

Its brilliant song is full of love.

The song thrush and the blackbird tune

Enrich us till the end of June.

The lowing of the cattle too,

The cock that greets the day anew.

The sheep their lambs so softly call,

The rustle of the leaves at fall.

Contrast these with the man made noise

Of roaring engines – the traffic voice.

The garden mower, the roadside drill,

Brash music the silent air to fill.

How crass man is compared to God,

Whose creations all who see – applaud.

Do we really think that we are fit

Upon this wondrous earth to sit.

This Heaven here on which we dwell

Will soon be made, by man, a hell.

Of nature’s sounds – a running brook.

Of mountain views on which to look.

Of waterfall and flowing river.

Pray God, these will remain for ever.

WAITING AT THE BUS STOP

How are you? I hope you missed that dreadful ‘flu.

This winter has been long and drear

And still to come the worst I fear

Tom says I’m always bright and cheery,

But I must confess I feel so weary

These legs of mine they’re not so good

They put me in a dismal mood.

I’m told to walk a mile each day

With my weak heart what can I say

How can I help but feel forlorn

When I’m trying to walk on this sore corn.

I wake each day with such a head

I really ought to stay in bed

But I get up – I feel so ill

I have to take another pill.

I meant to help at the bazaar

But the ‘flu left me with such catarrh

At night I simply cannot sleep

Although I try to count some sheep.

No one knows how much I suffer

I’ve asked my doctor for a puffer.

He says to me I’ll soon be well

What does he know – How can he tell

I’m never one who would complain

Although I’m in such dreadful pain

You would always find me full of smiles

If it weren’t for my recurring piles

And then sometimes I have cystitis

And once that’s gone it’s sinusitis.

Of course I never make a fuss.

Oh good-bye me dear, I see my bus.