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April 6, 2014

Hi Folks,

I’ve been having a sonnet spree – reading them, that is! Wonderful, but could I write one myself?

The other day I was sauntering beside my stretch of the River Weaver, sunshine gilding the slack current, when I came across a cluster of forget-me-nots at the foot of a tree. And I just thought, “Go for it, mate. Step outside your comfort zone and give it your best shot.”

The tiny blue flowers connected in my mind with a young lady whose lilting tones proclaimed her Irish roots and charmed me. We dated briefly in the mid-‘60s, three years before I met my future wife Stella.

With a dash of poetic licence here and there, writing my first ever sonnet was fun! Shakespeare it is not, but I hope you like it anyway. Have a good Sunday.




Forget-me-nots beneath a white willow

conjure your sweet Derry smile and green eyes.

My eager heart had for long lain fallow,

your lips upon mine a divine surprise.

I was shy and gauche, a dreamer to boot,

out of my depth with your loud Derry kin.

You were their princess and I didn’t suit,

beers though they bought for me down at the inn.

You sang ‘Danny Boy’, piercing my soul;

faintly, I fancy, your voice slips the breeze.

The many years gone have taken their toll;

do you also now kneel on creaky knees?

I dream you pick flowers beneath a tree,

a bunch of forget-me-nots, just for me.


Paul Beech


Copyright © Paul Beech 2014

[Also posted on Linkedin.]

From → Poetry

  1. Hi Paul – a very lovely Sonnet. I’m glad that you had stepped out of your comfort zone to create such a gem. Wishing you a good week.

  2. Thanks, Leslye, I’m so pleased you liked my sonnet. Someday, when the mood takes me, I’ll write another. Hope NaPoWriMo is going well. Enjoy your Columbia spring and take care,


  3. Touching Paul. We never forget our first encounter with first love do we. It will dwell in a special corner of our hearts and become a fond memory forever.


    • A lovely comment – thanks, Pat. My Irish girlfriend was actually my second. My first was a girl in the class below me at school four years earlier, before we moved from Lancashire to Cheshire. That’s a story for another day. Suffice to say, the Forget-Me-Nots recall fond memories of both, and for me they’ll forever be the fresh young lassies they were then, back in the day.


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