Kate Beamish Poems

Hour by hour I sit and muse
in what way my brain to use.
Shall I write or shall I read
for such effort is there need
...

Built solidly of stone or bricks,
no pebble-dash or fancy tricks.
Constructed to perform a duty,
not meant to be a thing of beauty.
...

Falling with a whisper, soft, fluttering snow,
persistently descending, deliberately slow.
Delicate flakes land one upon the other,
soon, with white blanket, everything to smother.
...

We pass this way just once, it’s said,
and short the time before we’re dead.
All too few are the days of bliss,
ensure there are none of them you miss.
...

Some years you visit briefly, with barely time to say hello,
in others linger fondly, with long farewells before you go.
You chase away the shadows to show that winter’s done
and tell us to make ready for a summer full of sun.
...