Listening to the birdsong outside my backdoor.. in the eventide hours is a sound that I adore ...
following me along the park trail the Wren's song
They called him the Mourner, The Turtle Dove- The one who cries at nights, solemn, with no one above...
The tree in the field has always been there All kinds of weathers and out in the fresh air ...
I still remember, When we were younger In the summer the days were longer, rising early going...
Inspired by Tony Taylors powerful poem, Autumn’s Movement
The crispness in the air, is the...
Cold front brings August respite upon cusp of autumn quite natural palliative to forget...
The wings of old Autumn are in flux In their slightest hesitation A glimpse Of an old...
How taut the clouds with Summer tears now spill upon the arid grass to quench the colour of...
It ruffled my feathers so to speak it was so loud the thunder bolts canvassing the sky it...
In the dew drops of the early morning dawn with the sweet Skylark as my company, at one with Mother nature...
To Bede indeed we owe a debt that time and tide will not forget.
(As written...
After the dripping of pearl-beaded rain, dawn settles on the sleepy riverbank.
One's eyes...
There is a beacon from Jupiter shining down on me, brightly, twinkling frantically As I lie looking...
Donald Trump, Lemony Snicket ghost Spiro Agnew, plus knowledgeable Jiminy Cricket, all...
Oh flimsy, fragile fuchsias how delicate you do look just like lots of little ballerinas in...
