It's midnight in the city, a gently falling rain, just the odd car passing, the distant rumble of a train

I sit here and listen to the creatures of the night, listen because I can't see them, they stay out of sight

One sounds stands out above the rest, continually it's heard. Even in the darkest hours the singing of a bird

I know not what she looks like, is she colourful or drab? Well I don't really care that much because her songs are never sad

All night she sings while others sleep, her songs so loud and clear, bringing happiness in the darkness to all who are there to hear

Why does she sing her sweet refrain through the long hours of the night? Perhaps she sings for those of us who have to stay awake

Then come the early morning light and a mighty choir is heard, no human intervention just a choir of singing birds

It's with reluctance that I must leave this place with the coming of the light. But later I'll be back again to hear her singing through the night

St. Patricks Day is when
everything turns green...
Just look down the street,
and you'll see what I mean...
There's green in the windows
and green on the doors...
And people with green shirts
and green hair to adore...
People that celebrate
by drinking green beer...
And laughing and singing
for it's been a whole year...
It's the luck of the Irish
that's what I hear...

by ~ Judy

I want to touch my finger to the tip of your nose
then I'll get a spark from knowing all you know

I saw an old couple today holding hands

and smiled.