‘PRIVATE-KEEP OUT!
The funniest children's book ever written.
I laughed so hard I choked'
Lucy Mangan The Guardian
WELCOME
THE QUIET PLACE
This is the quiet place,
Come, sit and be quiet,
And in your mind's eye,
Watch the daffodil
Weave the sun
Into a flower.
©GWEN GRANT
© Andrew Grant postcards of all the illustrations on this site are available by contacting me
LOOKING ACROSS THE TAY
The swans are out again,
Shimmering on the dark water,
Dipping into the splashes of moonlight
Until they become moonlight themselves.
Every feather sculpted in light.
Little white snowflake swans
Drifting down the silent river.
Behind us lies the Care Home,
Where glass walls welcome the lovely moon,
And one lone bed,
With a quilt as red as roses,
Lies empty in a corner.
The old ladies who live there,
Watching the white and sparkling swans
Sailing on the glittering water,
Dreamily send their pretty, remembered, bodies
Down that golden moonlit path.
Frail little birds,
Who soon overtake the swans.
This river and heaven
Must have a lot in common.
© copyright GWEN GRANT
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OUR GARDEN
There's a hole at the bottom of our garden,
That is deep and so dark and so cold.
And when the planes that drop bombs fly over,
We have to go down in that hole.
I'm not saying we haven't got candles,
I am saying we've all got a chair,
But the roof's made of tin and it's so very thin,
Worms drill through it and drop in your hair.
This hole at the bottom of our garden,
Has a door we can shut really tight,
But when the candle goes out, we never can tell,
If it's daylight outside or the night.
My Mum says at the wail of a siren,
We must stop what we're doing and run.
Not pick up a toy, a ball or a book,
For getting blown up is no fun.
Our cat didn't make it, nor Rover,
That dog wouldn't come when we called.
He lay on the mat, alongside the cat,
Then yawned, turned over and snored.
Now there's a hole at the top of our garden,
Which is just where our house used to stand.
But a bomb fell SMACK down the chimney,
And BANG, CLATTER, WALLOP - no house.
So we're stuck with the hole in the garden,
The one that is deep, dark and cold.
And when those Bombers fly over,
I just wonder if I'll live to get old.
'Rubbish!' my Mum says. 'You will!
You'll live to a hundred and four!
For, one day, those planes will be grounded
And they'll never drop bombs any more.'
© copyright 2012 - GWEN GRANT
May 2012....I have added a new page called ‘Songs’ to this site. I shall be adding a selection of songs I have written, beginning with my Diamond Jubilee Hymn to be performed in May and June this year.
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