Yellowed Gorse Poem by Fay Slimm

Humble, prickly, yet nearly a golden sea
Of gorse this time of year engulfs my soul,
Rippling delight down the yellowed freeway
As I travel into dusk, evokes whole -
Hearted rush to motor home. Gorsey moors
And silver hedgerows fill my Cornish mind
At springtime. I insist all city doors
Be shut, and along with high-life, leave behind
All fetid air, to reach this countryside,
Where hill flowers, banking down to brush my feet
Join nodding daffodils. Seems, far and wide,
Spring is spilling over me. Then, replete
With restful air and quiet, have of course
To leave the heavenly scent of yellowed gorse.