The Root Of It All
​
Every morning my garden greets me
It offers no mood, no strife, no judgement
I can tell the time by the placement of the sun
Rising low in the east, falling away to the west
The flowers too follow the sun’s pattern
Their delicate heads nodding in directional pose
Until they close once more at sundown.
The nature of gardening calls to me
To bring order to chaotic weeds
That dare to grow, where none should be
Trowel and fork at the ready – I claim my prize
When the surrounding plants breathe freely
Stretch out their roots, allowed to grow
Unfettered – unconstrained.
The garden is a forgiving place
It accepts when you are unable to tend it
Although unable to wait too long
It sends its tendrils out to draw you back
Rejuvenating your soul, absorbing your mind
Lifting your sadness and melancholy with the
gift of happiness
All the while, exercising your limbs and stiffening your back
A sure sign of a great gardening workout.
© 2025 Sheryl Clarke. All rights reserved.
Aroma of Sports Day
​
A happy day
long ago when the
sun shone gold
in an azure sky
a heat haze
shimmered across
fresh mown grass
where chalk lines streaked
and whistles blew
pupils raced red faced
and teachers pinned
winning ribbons
on t-shirts
gashed knees and
bright green smudged
shorts and I,
nose planted in
that glorious smell
© 2025 Sheryl Clarke. All rights reserved.
A Memorable Day
Bath’s ancient city beckoned,
so hubby and I set off to explore
landmarks we had never visited before.
The streets overflowed, the cafés too
though not enough to spoil the view, nor
our enchantment, that leapt and grew.
As off to Royal Cresent the museum to see
a delicious prospect on the edge of the green
where history books say sheep could once be seen.
The interiors piqued our interest for sure, and the special effects thrown in by the score, like the talking paintings that told stories and filled us with awe.
We puffed like a train as we strolled uphill to
The Circle, a magnificent masterpiece of man’s invention built for the fashionably well-to-do folks to reside in.
No sedan was available for the ride down to
Jane Austin’s museum, where the cost
of our entrance was far more than we bargained.
Though worth every penny, especially the oratory, of a well-spoken guide who explained all the history, then let us loose on the exhibits to gauge their authenticity.
I took up a quill at a quaint writing desk and
wrote of my name with a great flourish
but the ink it did spill and for me time stood still
Until, oh what a thrill, when Darcy himself did appear
at my side. He dismissed all my fear, with the lift of his ruby red lips and my heart it did cheer.
What a splendid day, hubby and I agreed
when back home in Wales, having crossed the sea,
we partook in the age-old ritual of taking tea.
© 2025 Sheryl Clarke. All rights reserved.