Oils on linen.
Painted in response to the poem Hawthorn White by Charles Causley
Hawthorn white, hawthorn red
Hanging in the garden at my head
Tell me simple, tell me true
When comes the winter what must I do?
I have a house with chimneys four
I have a silver bell on the door,
A single hearth and a single bed
Not enough, the hawthorn said.
I have a lute, I have a lyre
I have a yellow cat by my fire,
A nightingale to my tree is tied
That bird looks sick, the hawthorn sighed.
I write on paper pure as milk
I lie on sheets of shantung silk
On my green breast no sin has snowed
You'll catch your death, the hawthorn crowed.
My purse is packed with a five-pound note
The watchdogs in my garden gloat
I blow the bagpipe down my side
Better blow you're safe, the hawthorn cried.
My pulse is steady as my clock
My wits are wise as the weathercock
Twice a year we are overhauled
It's Double Summertime! the hawthorn called.
I have a horse with wings for feet
I have a chicken each day to eat
When I was born the church-bells rang
Only one at a time, the hawthorn sang
I have a cellar, I have a spread
The bronze blood runs round my bulkhead
Why is my heart as light as lead?
Love is not there, the hawthorn said.