Oak by Gill McEvoy

As she polishes and buffs the grain,

the golden wood, the strong fine lines,

she almost hears its yellow leaves

mutter in an autumn wind:

growing beside a lake, an oak,

this table forming in its solid heart.

Gill McEvoy, UK

Climate Change by Gill McEvoy

We will not go about our gardens
lifting the violet's head
to see the tiny orange teeth;

there will be no snowdrops
in blizzard in the spring;

we will not wander round
flicking the fresh rain
from the tender leaves.

We will learn to love cacti,
and stand back.


Gill McAvoy, UK