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        Hazel with her parents and sister Muriel

      


Escape



        


        Warm days of summer,


        Wandering through dusty lanes,


        Strange! I can only remember the warm days,


        When I escape back to childhood.Winter snow crisp and even,


        Bright starry nights of frosty magic,


        Strange! I can only remember


        The clear bright skies of winter,


        When I escape back to childhood.The sound of your voices,


        the laughter, the play,


        The crimson of a summer dawn,


        In the whizzing of a pleasant wind,


        Whispering across the hills


        I remember you all,


        In my escape back to childhood


        By Hazel McIntyre

Beginnings



        


        When years seem to disappear


        Like leaves in an Autumn gale,


        And in the dark days


        When layers of cloud


        Obscure and drain all colour


        from the landscape.


        Nothing can take away,


        Memory of a perfect day


        And a bright beginning.


        Hazel with her brothers

        and sisters



        The late William James

        McIntyre


        Hazel's brother


        Died in Australia aged 29


In

                Memory



        


        The

        chilly bite of a winter dawn on the deserted


        shore,


        Only my own footprints on the hard firm sand.


        How many prints of those that trod before me?


        Have been long since washed clean,


        Ahead of the ceaselessly, timeless rushing tide.

Emigration



Gaping Holes where your


          Twinkling glass


          Once reflected light.


          Your once thatched roof


          Just a gaping space.


        

Your garden wall


          outlined above


          The overgrown briars.


          Imagine you as you


          once were?


          The sound of


          children at play


      



Your roof space


          neatly thatched,


          The scent from your


          turf fire waffs


          Though the air


        

Your garden now,


          a row of neat


          corn stacks


          Tightly secured


          against winter storm,


          And you twinkling


          glass windows again;


          Reflect the evening


          light.


          Hazel McIntyre

          


      


Shore


The chilly bite of a winter dawn on the


          deserted shore.


          Only my own footprints


          on the hard firm sand.


          How many prints of those that trod before me?


          Have been long since washed clean,


          Ahead of the ceaselessly, timeless rushing tide.


          


          ©Hazel McIntyre


        Hazel with her brother at culdaff


©Hazel

        McIntyre 2002