Gorse

"When the Gorse is out of bloom"

Kissing is out of season

Or so she learnt as they walked together

On hills bright with golden flowers

Across fields, over stiles, through kissing gates

 

Now she knows the prickles of gorse

Walks through kissing gates alone

But the herbal tells her

Gorse – a remedy for despair

Written at a workshop at Whitby Folk Week given by Angela Topping