Peter D. Purbrick

Abingdon, Oxon, UK

Born January 11th 1936 to Ann and Edwin Purbrick in Abingdon Oxford. The sixth of nine children. Married Barbara Webb of Drayton on 19th March, 1960 and had four children, Samantha Louise, Tamara Jane, Vaughan Ashley, and Kent Damian. I was educated at St. Peter's College for Mill Hill Missionaries, Freshfield, Liverpool from 1947-1952 and then spent 3 years in the R.A.F. Since 1977, I have been both school caretaker at a special needs school and a blinds salesman. I have written children's stories and historical writings (none of which have yet been published) and started a novel, "Et Reliqua," about my college days. I have a great affinity with nature and outer space and a love of archaeology. I am a romantic.

Grandma

Her days of frantic pace are o'er;
Yet still her bones aren't idle even now.
A beauteous face still lingers dark and deep
Behind the wrinkled skin and furrowed brow.
What gossamered thoughts do dwell within?
What tenderness remains in her dear hands?
What selfless love still pours out unto those
Who chide and berate all her small demands?
She rests awhile, at peace with earth and heaven.
A lady blessed of four score years and seven.

Diana

Was there more fair in this great domain.
As vows of love made her a future queen.
Unsullied yet by poisoned envious men.
Deceived by treacherous man. The unforeseen
Events which were to come with such great pain
Were hidden with coy and ever radiant smile.
A nation took her to their loving hearts.
She was their queen - if only for a while
This queen enraptured nations far and wide
Whilst courtiers flashed and stabbed their viscous knife.
Content to inflict long and lingering death
The while a future kind betrayed his wife.
And though she erred to extricate the pain
And enemies tried to quench this burning flame.
A spirit strong forever marches on.
And England's halls will echo out the name - DIANA

The Lovely Month of May

Have you ever smelled the air
Of a Mayday morn
Enriched by the morning dew?
Seen the crisp white bowers
Of hawthorn flowers
Enhanced by a sky of blue?

Have you ever strolled through
A buttercup-ed mead
With the smell of the river nearby?
Watched the fowls and their breed
Learn to swim and to feed
And heard the "chook" of the moor hen's cry?

Have you heard the hedges
Of a country lane
And the squabble of sparrows unseen?
And did you ever hark
To the voice of the lark
As it hovers o'er a field of green?

Have you spied a chestnut,
With its candles white
or rose; (both give such displays),
Stand majestically tall
By a loose stoned wall
Like a king over all it surveys?

Have you ever heard the "Thwock"
Of a willowed bat
And the clap of the crowd as they run
'Cross the fresh green sward?
Yes! The batsman's scored
In the warmth of a springtime sun.

Have you ever heard the cuckoo
On the evening breeze?
He always seems so very far away.
Nature's laid all of this before us
With bird song there for chorus.
It's bound to be the lovely month of May