Poetry

Foyer

In the foyer of a Georgian townhouse, where marble steps meet a polished oak, the scent of lavender drifts from a vase, and a grandfather clock ticks a soft, steady stroke. A

Their

Their hands, once dusted with summer’s earth, Now trace the quiet edges of memory’s hearth, Where laughter lingers in the amber light Of tea‑stained mugs and soft, forgiving night. Their voices, a

Sweet

Sweet is the first note of sunrise, A honeyed sigh on amber light, When laughter melts like caramel And childhood tastes of strawberry‑red. It lives in tea‑time biscuits, In scones split thick with clotted cream, In

Ahead

Beyond the bend of quiet lanes, Where shadows stretch and daylight wanes, We lift our eyes to what lies ahead, A promise stitched in quiet thread. Each step a measured, steady tread, Upon

Pleat

In the quiet drawer of linen, a pleat whispers, folded tight, like a secret kept in cotton, a crease that holds the light. It walks the hem of a skirt, sharp as a

• The Friday Fun British Test
• Dilbert Archives