(13 December 1982-22 August 1985)
John Henry Jones (1909-1985)
No butterfly grew old.
Rainbows fade with the rain,
colours in the mind remain.
Flowers fall beneath the plough,
petals bruised and blossoms bent
on the air still sweet their scent.
Birds are quiet in the Fall,
to the yellow leaves still cling
echoes of their song in Spring.
August 1985
© copyright Philip Henry Jones ac Eirlys Mair Barker 2024