Dickon Abbott - His life is celebrated

Pieta

When the thorn was green
my gold-haired son was born.
His birth star blazed between
the midnight and the morn.

When the thorn was white
with new wine he was wed.
The may's hedge-blossom bright
festooned his marriage bed.

When the thorn was red
they tore his life from me.
The swollen fruit he bled
hung dripping from the tree.

Now the thorn is black
and storm clouds cloak the sky.
Men pray to bring him back;
I only wait to die.

Dickon Abbott

Last weekend a new book was launched to celebrate the poetry of this highly sensitive man who did a lot for Ulverston.

This book will be available from the Tinner's Rabbit very soon.

Dickon Abbott, I understand, was a chairman of Ford Park Trust in the early days and had a vision of what could be done with this building and its grounds . . . . . .