Simon Whitfield Poems

Our Planet

Ancestral cradle of the human race,
Sunrise and sunset sweeping gently round
To what high cosmic melody, whose sound
Can mark the measure of her dance in space,... more »

A Living Tree

We see, like crooked fingers on a hand,
The twigs and branches, bare against the sky,
A melancholy sight to meet the eye,
When winter's grip has paralysed the land,... more »

Simon Whitfield Quotes

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