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Here are some poems from a member of our family and her mother:

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       Sam and the Horse Box

Sam, my beauty,  I know you don't  like the box,
Something new to you.
Trust me, the box holds no fears.
Come,  one step.
Wait, all is well.
Another step.
You are nearly there.
Once more round the box and you are in.
Good boy!  Now what was there to fear?
Nothing, because you trusted me and listened.
Now you are used to the box,
It will lead to pleasures unknown,
Green pastures with luscious grass,
Rippling brooks and a playmate.
You will give someone the pleasure of riding you,
To stretch those long, beautiful legs, cantering away.
And in the offing a  nice clean, sweet-smelling stable,
A rub down, a nice meal of oats and hay,
Maybe an apple and a carrot.
You  listened and trusted me,
And all is well.
Hilda Jaggard.  October, 1998.


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  The Tortoise to the Hare
Maybe I'm not the tortoise
      You imagine me to be,
For I can run as fast as you
       And have my fantasy.

But I believe in Aesop,
        'Slow and steady wins the race'.
I know I may be slower, but,
         I just like an easy pace.
I smile and look around me,
        You think I may be slow,
But I know exactly where I'm going
        And how I'm going to go!
No need to ask if I'll get there,
           With my quiet, determined mind.
The winning post is always in sight
	I hope I like what I find.
By Helen

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                     The Storm


The wind sighs and moans today,
In sorrowful and pathetic strain.
Rain and snow come beating on my window pane,
As if in vengeance bent.
Hope seems dead, but who can tell,
Maybe revived with the dawn of a new-born day.

Like souls in torment, sighing with a vague unrest,
	Moaning as if in great distress.
Hark, what is that cry I hear?
	So far away and yet, so near.
What is the cry that fills my ears?
	A soul quite lost, but yet of tender years.
Ah, the legend which filled me with such haunting dread,
	'Tis said the boy was lost and not found until quite dead.
So now the cry is fathomed,
	A young soul haunting the scenes of boyhood days.
Gone, but perhaps not forgotten.
 	Sleeping not far away.

						Hilda May Frost
						Written at Rufford Abbey 1927
						During a storm.

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One Man in his Time

At seventeen he strives to be
     The things he thinks he should.
At twenty - one he'll have regrets,
     He'd go back if he could.
At thirty life should be more settled,
     He should realise where he's going.
Go all out for what he wants,
     But what he'll get there's no knowing.
At forty the kids are leaving the nest,
     For the great big world outside.
The time to really assess himself,
     I hope he's satisfied.
At fifty he thinks life's passed him by,
     He'll wish that he was forty.
With a little cunning and imagination,
     It wouldn't be hard to be naughty.
Respectably going to the office each day,
     Briefcase by his side.
His wife no longer understands him,
     So his secretary keeps him satisfied!
The double life he has to lead,
     Proves to be quite a strain,
Home for dinner, then out be eight,
     To start all over again.
Just what happens when his wife finds out,
     I just couldn't hazard a guess.
I hope he finds it worth while in the end,
     Or he'll end his life in a mess,

Discarded by his 'oh-so-loyal wife'
     He'll end up in a grotty bedsitter.
Living on lecherous memories,
     Sipping his pint of bitter.
 "Has it been worth it?" He may reflect.
     He's not getting any - any more.
So he takes himself off to the pub,
     That's what his right arm's for.
Relegated to the Tap Room,
     Every night playing darts.
 Then home to his homely little room,
     To erotically dream of tarts.
The story's sad, it had to end
	     In a most untimely fashion.
He decided he could no longer live
     A life without some passion.
He took himself down to the river,
     On a dark and stormy night.
He ended it all right there and then,
     He'd got no more strength to fight
			By Helen.

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Just Ourselves

	For better or worse - we're all unique,
	     Some are forceful with a stubborn streak,
	Some are born to be walked upon,
	     While some are weak others are strong.

	Self - acceptance is the key
	     To true self - evaluation.
	How can we hope to find peace of mind?
	     When we're always looking for salvation.

         Scorpio, Virgo or Gemini.
	     Earth or Fire or Water.
	Doesn't much matter, which we are.
	     A peaceful life is what we're after.

                   Venus, Pluto, Jupiter and Mars,
	     Hurtling round our planet.
	The only thought inside our head
	     Is how much longer can we stand it.

	Gemini is the sign of the twins.
	     Leo is born to roar.
	Scorpio with the sting in his tail,
	     But we're always searching for more.

	Tarot cards - the crystal ball,
	     Will they put our weary minds at rest?
	Just learn to take life as it comes,
	    Just strive to do our best.

	We should only have one aim in life,
	     And that's to lead it well.
	But it gets to be so difficult,
	     When our mind's directed to Hell.
Just Ourselves

	Thoughts of the future, regrets of the past,
	     You name it - I've been there.
	But I've slowly come to realise
	     To find yourself - you've got to care.

	I find the games some people play,
	     So cruel and so distasteful.
	Why go to such lengths to prove yourself,
	    It's making life so wasteful.
	The importance of being created as all,
	     Is really to love your brothers.
	While this is true for some of us,
	     It's so unimportant to others.

	The most important thing in life,
	     Is Love - with a capital L,
	So come on -- live your life to the full,
	     Before the big "Farewell".
	When once you reach those Pearly Gates,
	    It's no good wishin' and a - cursin',
	Life is finished, forgotten my friend,
	     Time to push the hearse in.

                                                  By Helen 

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If you would like to comment on any of these poems then please email me:

Email me  (npwebsite@btinternet.com)
Copyright  2001 H. Greenland - do not copy these poems without permission from the writer.
Please email me for further details.