Mother was an angel, supporting her family during the depression and died in 1940 aged 59years.

 

TO MOTHER

 

This life is like a stormy sea

These words I learned at mother's knee

And oft with her I must agree

When things go wrong

And from the past I seem to hear

Her plaintive song

 

She sang about a fairer shore

Where friends departed met once more

And far beyond the billows roar

To rest a while

And free from care again to share

Fair friendships smile

 

And in that realm of the blessed

I think she hoped to get some rest

For many a time she was hard pressed

Run off her feet!

And lang she' laboured in the mill

To make ends meet

 

She tended us with loving care

Though oft we dined on simple fare

To hear her footsteps on the stair

Would bring delight

And all our tears and childish fears

Were put to flight

 

She worked that we might learn a trade

I wish that debt had been repaid

Alas her health began to fade

Before our sight

As Summer's day at last gives way

To Winter's night

 

Though loath to leave she could not stay

For time and tide will not delay

And sadly soon in death she lay

A worn out shell

Her life complete no more to meet

Or with us dwell

 

C.P.Lowson

16th September 1992

 

Dear Art . It was through cycling in the Scottish Higghlands that awakened in me the poetical ability that runs in our family and I have a number of poems on that subject .

 

 

Thoughts of Home

 

Scotland's hills are ever calling

They who left their native shore

Stirs within the heart a longing

Homeward to return once more

 

Feet that climbed her rugged mountain

Fain would scale the lofty Ben

Lips that drank from sparkling fountains

Long to taste her springs again

 

Childhood memories now returning

Echoing like distant bells

Winter nights with peat fire burning

Ghostly tales and Fairy spells

 

Snow clad hills with bright moon shining

Leafless trees dark shadows cast

By the campfire close reclining

Come these visions of the past

 

Springtime when the lambs are leaping

Birds sweet singing on the wing

Lovers hand in hand are meeting

Singing songs that lovers sing

 

Summer when the hills are sleeping

Lochs reflect a brighter blue

Laden bees are homeward fleeting

Fain would I fly homeward too.

 

C.P. Lowson 4/11/91

 

 

 

 

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