The Gift - Ian Duquemin


The yellow gorse flows golden
Blending with the craggy rocks below
That rumbling seas applaud
As seagulls rest their weary wings
And with the thaw of winters frost
In a time of birth...
The flowers raise their pretty heads
To welcome all that summer brings
The cliff path winds around the isle
A view transformed with every turn
No artist ever captured
With a weak and mortal hand
As only Mother Nature
With her graciousness and presents
Could recreate the generous gift
The true designer planned

Ian Duquemin

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