4-star holiday cottage near Malvern, Worcestershire

poems

  • Dear Pheasant

    The lovely pheasant who frequently visited the barn was, one late afternoon, sadly, found dead on the road. Possibly the same pheasant who proudly strutted around the Barn that I photographed in an earlier news item around a year ago? My great niece and I wrote the poems below inspired by our memories of the pheasant’s natural beauty and charm.

    MY POEM

    Late Sunday afternoon you were in my field

    Pecking the grass

    Relaxed and content

    Coming up close to the barn.

    Now you are dead on the road,

    Your beautiful plumage can be seen.

    Why would you try to cross the road?

    You were safe in our fields.

    We are all sad Our lives are emptier without you.

    MY GREAT NIECE’S POEM

    The pheasant was nice

    Although I don’t like birds.

    The bird was magnificent, beautiful, strong.

    Although you’re gone You’ll still be in our hearts.

    Pheasant picture by my great niece
    Pheasant picture by my great niece

  • Poems at Rhydd Barn

    15 January, 2025

    Rhydd barn picture window view
    Rhydd barn picture window view

    I am at the Barn. My great nieces call in to see me, late afternoon. My sister had collected them from school. One of my nieces has always been interested in writing poetry. It was a very atmospheric afternoon with the mist coming down. We sat in front of the downstairs picture window in the barn, so we had the same view at the same time, and wrote our poems…

    This is my poem:

    Western View through Barn Window

    Cold January afternoon

    towards close of day.

    Bright chaffinch flies onto fence

    mown green grass by sheep beyond.

    Distant silhouettes of winter trees

    fading into the mist,

    pattern of branches against grey sky

    soon to disappear.

    Grandma arrives calling

    children for tea, gymnastics.

    Father impatient to go

    sounds horn of car.

    All is silent again.

    Little dog relaxes once more and sleeps.

    Outside a thick mist has

    covered the trees.

    No one would know they are there.

    The grass colour fades,

    the dark fence remains.

    And here is my niece’s poem:

    World poem
    World poem

    I look up.

    I look at the birds

    the trees and the view.

    I look at the beautiful oak tree,

    the old gate

    and multicolour stones.

    And I see a beautiful

    World

    I thought my niece’s poem was such a contrast to mine—a young child’s view of the world beyond the weather outside.

    —Rosemary Boaz