Here is another ‘Miss McPherson’ poem – a Christmas poem –
again written for Southwell Minster’s magazine.  This isn’t
Harry’s poem, though.  It’s Chad’s with Sharnia being helpful!

ROOM FOR ONE MORE                                            

‘If all of the world saw the Christmas sky filling
With angels whose wings were silver and shimmering,
Who sang with their voices chiming and ringing,
Until all life on earth heard every last word
Of Jesus new-born,
Think how happy they’d be,’ Chad said, with a smile,
‘But the happiest of all would be the fierce crocodile.’ 

‘Stop right there, Chad,’ Miss McPherson fizzed,
‘That Nativity stable is staying just as it is,
With sweet baby Jesus asleep in His crib;
Mary and Joseph; the shepherds knelt down,
Three Kings all a’twinkle, wearing their crowns.
With a cow and a donkey; lambs sweet as the child,
And nowhere, Chad, nowhere, a fierce crocodile.’

‘Well, that’s not fair!  Why not give him a trial?’
Chad cried, holding up his toy crocodile.
‘Because,’ Sharnia frowned, ‘a crocodile eats
Ears, toes and fingers like packets of sweets.’

Chad was cool.  ‘I agree.  But Jesus,’ he said,
‘Came not just to love the sweet and the kind,
Or wise Kings a’twinkle with sparkling minds.
He came to love everyone, even those we don’t like,
The mean and the vile,
With their cruel sharp teeth and their sharp cruel smile.
That’s how I know He’ll love my crocodile.’

Miss McPherson said, ‘Chad, that is very true.
Jesus loves lambs but He loves crocodiles, too.
And as I look at the Stable floor,
I see quite clearly there is room for one more.’
And Miss  McPherson smiled,
‘There’s plenty of room for a crocodile.’      

                                                              ©Gwen Grant






I often think of you as I lie at rest,
Light from the street lamp
Burnishing these dark walls.
How I have loved you so with every breath,
There cannot be many words of love unsaid,
But what there are, I say them to you now.

Once I saw your face
At a place I hadn’t thought you’d be,
And in that moment
Knew the loveliness of what you are
Remains unchanged.
Then you smiled at me.

I often think of you as I lie at rest,
Or when I up and through that door walk out,
Your open hand forever held in mine.
There cannot be many words of love unsaid,
For I have loved you with every breath,
But what there are, I say them to you now.

                                         © Gwen Grant



You return
And the earth turns a little longer.
The lost
Finding one another on busy
City streets,
Or waiting in quiet, hidden gardens.

You return
Late as the sun for the dawn.
Stinging rays
Swivel blue bent to my windows,
Searching them
For the silent lips of a sleeping woman.

You return
And kiss my mouth and I awake
From this,
The first dying. Sweet and warm,
Into you
I come, and pull the air close round us.

I missed you when you were gone.

© Gwen Grant



I wrote this poem years ago, when I was a young woman


 Bright lady tall in quilted sun,
Cotton hair caught
In a shadow net of dancing leaves.
In silence,
Rose lips pressed petal to petal,
Her firm gaze fixing flowers
Upon the grass.

Dandelion rings on long thin fingers,
The wormy white stems bitten free
By snippety teeth.

She never smiles unless she wants to.
Young and tough,
There she stands,
Her pretty dandelion feet
Kicking shadows from her path.
Her cotton hair
Spinning a net,
Quilting the morning sun. 

                             © GWEN GRANT