This Christmas I will be thinking of all those that have lost everything in the floods, rains and storms.  Thinking of those that have lost everything when their house fell over the cliff on the east coast of the uk.  Thinking of those alone and suffering.  Thinking of those facing uncertainty and dread.  Thinking of those not able to walk.   May you all have a good Christmas and may you all have a peaceful new year. And I hope Santa will bring a smile to all the childrens faces this year.  Happy Christmas everyone.

Project your thoughts far and high
Thoughts and demons that terrify
Let them go, just let them soar
Push them out through a cold door.
Now dream, dream all day long
Follow that dream as if in song.
Plan, discover and then dream again
Take care of your dreams like old mother hen.
And when thoughts are not what they seem
Relax and search for your favourite dream.

Thank you Sally for making me see sense.

There is good in each
And everyone of us.
A beauty that runs deep.
You are the harvest
That you reap.
The seeds that you sow
Will one day surely
Take root and grow.
Look into your soul
There is a beautiful person
And that is you.

I awake to a sound
A soft gentle breeze
Sweeps across my face.
A feeling I found
Memorable.
The music reminds me
A gentle reminder
Of something special
Of what I used to be
Memorable.
A clock ticks silently
The rhythm stirs my heart
Beating my soul
Quietly.
Memorable.
I hear children playing
far, far away.
Memorable.
I hear someone whispering
"I love you".
I remember the day
when I wore white
Memorable.
I recall Spanish nights
My skirt too tight, too high
But I loved it.
Memorable.
My dad looks at me with
love in his eyes
he is now wrinkly
weathered and wise
and he cries
late at night.
A sunset drapes itself across
ruby speckled skies
Memorable. All memorable.

If ever there were a magnificent view
Hooded by a crisp golden sky
It is the Norfolk fields of blue
A first class seat money can buy.
Rows upon rows of lavender divine
In straight lines up and then down
The performance it gives is all mine
And I have the best seat in town.

If only there were a  pair of eyes
Watching me like a demented hawk
His beady eye stapled on me when he flies
Over the lonely path upon which I walk

If only my life were mapped out on a board
Little details clearly marked with drawing chalk
But it is empty, there is nothing I can afford
Empty like the lonely path upon which I walk.

If my days were filled with laughter, a bit of noise
However,  it is silent, quiet, nothing,  no more talk
I’m trapped in a place where stuff destroys
Cold and silent like the lonely path upon which I walk.

Depression, confusion all little surprises around the tree
I’d like to burn them, hide them, cut them up with a knife and fork
We don’t need reminding about negatives: do you agree
It is bad enough on this bumpy road upon which I walk.

On behalf of all hedgehogs please read this before lighting your fire on bonfire night.
Wading through rotten wood gathered throughout the year
Lies a little baby hedgehog and in its eye there’s a tear.
In hedgehog talk he pleaded for help and, missing his mum
He was set free to walk back cold and lonesome.
He arrived home and his mum had missed her only son.
She cuddled him while he told her what he had done.
She realised her son could have been burned alive at night
He was under a pile of wood which could have set alight.
She looked at him with all the love in the world and more
But her precious little one was fast asleep on the floor.

Colours are never in short supply
Nature’s wonder and is absolutely free.
From a show stopping azure and apricot sky
To a burgundy and emerald sea.
A walk in the woods on a crisp Autumn day
The bluebells in a mauve and lavender wood.
Rich red colours of a raspberry sorbet
Making our mouth water the way it should.
Lemons and tangerines dripping in a Spanish field
Blue Sapphires, topaz and amber in the sunlight
Tropical fish;  their iridescence revealed
Once trapped in the opaque frothy white.
Colours are awash in my mind
Flooding my head
Bringing life like a sharp citrus rind
Making me blush like a pink rose bed.

The end of October
when the dead reappear
Nothing to dread
but everything to fear.
Creeping about at the
hour of the pearl.
Dip your toe in the trail
let your toes curl.
Chains, heavy chains
drag across the floor
Rusty keys turn
in keyholes in the door.
Broomsticks, bats, they all come out
Tricks , pointed hats
spiders, things to make you scream
Nothing now will be and
things are not what they seem.
Get those rabbit feet and hang them high
Because there are ghosts and things we dread
and they will be draped across your sky.

Are you real Fairy Godmother
When I was a child, my wishes came true.
So as I approach the twilight of my years
I have a proposal to put before you.

When I was a child I always thought of others,
At Christmas the joy for me was smiles on faces.
But always knowing that there was someone suffering
Amongst poverty, hardship and unsafe places.



My dad taught me to work hard, enjoy life
Knuckle down with plenty of elbow grease.
But at night I always prayed for everyone
Wishing and hoping for happiness and peace.

So dear Fairy Godmother, I know you have powers
To help all sick and suffering people, whoever they may be
This is my one and only wish, if it may be granted
To heal everyone, put smiles back and everyone pain free.

He glances at himself a red tinge to his cheek
At least he has his health but he looks a freak.
“Am I supposed to be this shade” – he inspected a feather.
A parrot is not pink an wanted to be orange like a carrot
How much more he can take I am not sure
“I am a parrot and I am pink, put me out of my misery”
He wanted to be dyed and have you no sympathy.
He sat down and he cried.
His friend was there with him who had fallen from the tree.
He said to him at least he was slim not overweight like him.
The parrot sat in deep thought and it made him think
At the end of the day I am alive even if I am pink.
And pink is a nice colour!

I look at the rain
and I cry
I look at the clouds
and I wonder why
You had to die.
Your voice, your sweet voice
Like a chorus of angels
can be heard around me
Because Carol to me
you were an angel
A sweet soul
Now you are the whispers
in the breeze
You are the wind that
rattles the leaves
You are the rain,
the clouds and the sunshine again.
You are an angel Carol
and always will be.
For my friend Carol Gall
My dear, dear friend
May she forever rest in peace
Amen.

Maybe when I am old
I will be miserable and grey
My skin will want ironing
And I will wet myself all day.
Maybe there will be peace
And harmony amongst men
Maybe there will be no more worries
Maybe the world will be better by then.
So there wont be lines on my face
And I will be wearing a smile
I’ll be running around like a teenager
And I’ll be leaving my clothes in a pile.
Maybe.

I was looking in my grandmother's old vegetable plot
Searching in and amongst the fragrant sweet peas
When I found an old brown mud encrusted teapot
Tangled up in roots of old forgotten trees.
Then I found my grandmother's old rusty *****
This had seen some action back in its day.
I held the teapot close and the memories had stayed
Had visions of may poles where my Gran used to play.
She'd pour her tea, drink it then invert the cup
Twist it three times one way and then the other
Turn the cup the right way up
Funny old ways hd my Grandmother.
She had her special way of making a brew
And I loved her such a lot
Searching and recalling scenes and there are a few
I found happines in an old brown teapot.

At the end of the working week
All that's left is cabbage and leek
Throw them in a pan
With bits of old ham
and you have got bubble and squeak.

The Owl and the Cheese Sandwich
It rained all night, one sunny morning
the owl stood by my door
He said I gave him a cheese sandwich
And now he’s come back for more.

I thought, cheese, I don’t buy the stuff
The fridge is packed with it you know,
I tried to fob the owl off with jam
But he just flew away and would not go.

I told him owls don’t each cheese
They patrol the night skies
Oh in that case I will cancel cheese
And on the day run I will have some pies.

Funny owl I thought he is up to something
Trying to ram pies down my throat.
It is a good job he is not meeting the pussycat
And going off in a pea green boat!

Oh what a high ceiling
And look how the paint’s peeling
I’ve got a wonderful feeling
That you’ll have to dig deep and pay.

Oh and the clothes want mending
Then its off to the washer I’m sending
And by the way thanks for lending
The money for me to do it today.

While you’re at it I will take a seat
While the nice lady buffs up my feet.
Then after my treat, I will eat
Chocolates upon a milky tray.

The small dog
wore a big wig
What does he care
To him it's just hair.
You cant dispute
He's as bald as a newt
But he looks vaguely cute
That's why folk stare.
They're envious that's what it is.
Green with envy.

A rich tea biscuit in her pocket of crumbs for later
Is where she placed her hand.
A pocket containing her *****.
For her yellow queer nose, enough is enough
Old people have strange habits.
They save things for later.
"Oh thank you dear, I will save it for later!"
And as much as you try to explain
They then complain they cant hear you.
Selective hearing, that is what it is.
She can hear the bingo numbers being called
a mile off.
She can hear if I whisper "do you want a sherry"
With her bloomers, false this, false that, I love her.
And I would not swap her for the world.
She was my grandma, and I still love her.
She was beautiful, funny and awkward.
But I miss her, and always will.
RIP my grandmother Rest In Peace.

"Here we go round the mulberry bush
Sang a blood stained soldier
His skull cracked and hugging a bullet
for grim death - his death,
Until hs last breath fades away
Echoing around the bush
In the mad, red, hot rush.
To Heaven.
Where he will go because he is a Hero.
He saved lives, countless lives but not his own.
That is not allowed when you are a Hero.
Round and round his head spins
Spinning around the metal case that
splintered his soul.
Round and round is the case.
A rat race to Heaven.

Sally, is five your lucky number?
You have five stars to love.
Care for and be there for them
and I don't mean the ones above.
The stars you have are more beautiful
than those surrounding the milky way.
Yours have precious hearts that beat
and grow more like you each day.
For you are a part of them as they
are indeed very much a part of you.
Your granddaughters are the next generation
Of which you are proud and happy too.
You are lucky Sally, always think that
Give them all that you can give
Five stars, five little hearts beating
Give them the tools they can achieve the next bit with
For you Sally, and your little adorable granddaughters,
May your days be always pink and rosy.

“Do not grab me”
“She has done it again,
You have got to agree
She is a pain.”
The little pink toothbrush
Moaning about the way it’s treated
In the mad morning rush
Till the cleaning session’s completed.
“Pick me up gently, that is it
Now squeeze the paste”
“Too much, too much, just a bit
Oh my life, what a waste.”
The little pink toothbrush is a fed up
He wants to be looked after lovingly
From when he comes out of his cup
Which is fair comment to some degree.
“In the mouth we go,
Always the same molar
Now woman brush to and fro
No, no, wrong, I’m trying to control you.
“Up and down, not like a yard brush
Gently, we have to do it gently
It is not some major rush
Do it differently.
Do human beings know?
Do they actually care?
Is their brain like pastry dough?
Is it even there?
If I have thought it once,
I’ve thought it a million times a day
She must be a dunce
And that is all I can say.
Rinse woman , rinse me
Under the sparkling spray
Oh no don’t dip me in your cup of tea
I’ll be yellow and smelly all day.”
Does she not know I have needs
Not know how to treat me nice
It is like she succeeds
I have to think everything twice.
“And don’t throw me
Put me gently back in my place
And I’m covered in tea
Pity it’s not on your face.”
Look soap, look everyone what she does
Treats me like a scrubbing brush
And she does it because
She is always in a rush!”

Strolling beside a stream
On a crisp Autumn day
The water frothing like cream
Getting drenched from the spray.
I see a Kingfisher further ahead
Perched on an old Oak twig
Its breast a bright brick red
To offset his very blue wig.
The blackbirds sing to me
A sweet tune they know
They are high in the tree
The Kingfisher thinks it’s time to go.
The leaves crunch underfoot
Delicate veins being crushed.
Like Mother Nature’s put
Down stuff to be brushed.
But the wind blows them to a pile
Neatly arranged by the bank
In colours in single file
Like soldiers in their rank.
The stream flows with vigour
Taking no prisoners, no stone turned
The force,  compelling rigour
Another penny earned.

The sea washes over the rocks
With a drop of salt and water lukewarm
Splashing into splits inside unknown to man
And rushing headlong into a storm.
Grumpy clouds gather collecting froth
Scooping sea water into its mass
Then spitting it out like thunder
Relentless and as bold as brass.
Clouds twist and curve
Rinsed and now on fast spin
Wringing out and making clean
The sky now glows like a shiny new pin.
Everywhere is drenched
Drying in the midday sun.
Storm chasers beware because
The day has only just begun.

The petals swirl
The clouds curl
Hearts are called
The petals fall
crammed with emotion
of the purple potion
Spitting from veins
I am appalled
Still the petals fall.
They will drop
It will never stop
Lives lost, at what cost
the purple potion is dished out
they are all washed out.
I wish I could fast forward
their lives then replay the mistake
But it is like a piece of cake
Cut, gobbled then gone
and then the purple hearts
and in their rose clouds.

I inhale
I exhale
Sometimes I win
Very often I fail.
On one’s own
All alone
Frustrating
A huge stepping stone.
For me to climb
The clock starts to chime
Seconds falling
Losing time.
I am on a chart
Back to the start
Losing beats
From a broken heart.
My muddled mind
Thoughts left behind
Memories
Are hard to find.

Just a cool orange drink,
Sparkling, the clink of ice
A long straw bobbing with bubbles
and you have found paradise.

Sitting on a sandy beach,
Blue sky, no cloud, just nice.
Listening to the children play
and you have found paradise.

In walks a man, wife at doorstep
Drunk, he knows he is in paradise.
She yells, he thinks, she cries, he laughs.
smack she smiles, he cries.

He is out cold, she is warm in bed.
He snuggles the doormat, blimey he thinks.
The wife ought to have a shave
and she absolutely stinks!

The cat joins him on the doormat
Licking his bruised face, mmm nice.
A pair of slippers also joins them
But he is till in his drunken paradise.

A bucket of cold water joins them too
A stark wake up call hit his face.
"Ouch! where am I? who are you?"
"Get me out of this cruel place!"

"You are home fool. Get to bed"
His face yells, crinkling at the brow.
Secretly she is enjoying all of this,
what have I done to upset her now?

Once again he finds paradise
in the form of crisp white sheets and dreams.
Alcohol  is playing with all his mishaps
And his paradise is not now what is seems.

Elves, fairies, dancing queens,
Flirting among the rubble.
Tossing their heads to and fro
Launching into a spiral of trouble.
They of course, laugh in jest
Drunk all of them, seeing double.
Rosy beer in one hand, sherry in another
Creating a hilarious spiral of trouble.
They brewed it themselves, the elves
Bringing the fermenting apples to a bubble.
Tossing in rose petals, well that did the trick
Causing a spiral of trouble.

Looking, deep in thought
Just looking, nothing more.
Transfixed with the view
I heard a sound at my door.

I stirred to answer the call
Eyes adjusting to the light.
But it was nothing, nothing at all
It was the middle of the night.

Were those visions dreams?
Were they all inside my head?
But I saw something, I knew it
Was I dreaming in my bed?

It was like yesterday on the horizon
Haunting me, messing with my mind
I looked for evidence of the dream
But there was nothing for me to find.

Memories playing tricks, real tricks
Myself, actually teasing myself.
How dare my sub-conscious annoy me
putting my sanity on the shelf.

I will question my thoughts for days to come
Sounds like my mind is having fun.
At my expense? I don't think so, oh no.
But it was like yesterday on the horizon.

Do I wonder?
Do I ponder?
Run here, run there,
Fetch this
carry that.
Do this do that
Do I care?
Actually I do.

As the song says you are unforgettable
In every way.
Your perfume, your smile,
Your pickle stabber.
Your only tooth
Unforgettable.
I'd run a mile
To tell the truth
Regrettable.
But there you are.

Sparkling like lemonade
The spider clings to what it's made.
Through the icy blue haze
A web glistens and it stays.
Frozen in space flies stay still
The temperature drops to an icy chill
Mist freezes and develops into fog
Confusing the path of the hedgehog.
It bumps into bubbles around the drain
Popping them with spikes which feels like rain.
The Fairy ring is always at the bottom of the lane
Without it the street would not be the same.
And this is where the blackbird sings.
It's early morning and another day begins.

Is it my tooth that clicks
When down my neck I force
Beef Burgers and giant sausages
With loads and loads of sauce.

Is it the potatoes that stay on my hips?
Even when they are baked in their skin
Or is it when  thy are deeply fried
If I eat more do you think I'll stay thin?

There is a Fairy at the bottom of the garden,
She lives in the third mushroom down.
She doesn't own much, between you and me
but she has the biggest fungi in town.

She is a lucky Fairy but doesn't know it.
I dare say she has more than most.
She has a large stalk to hang her smalls on
Which is a good deal bigger than a post.

Thinking about it I ought to charge her rent
She says there is not "mushroom" to spread.
But a Fairy has such high demands
I will have to come up with another plan instead.

She told me now she wants to go to a toadstool
Whill is far too small for her box of tricks.
She has her eye on my place but that
is just too big and it is made of bricks.

Colours To Enjoy Till I’m Old
It is enough to make one’s heart sink
Wandering around amongst the blue
Greens, lavender and pink
Rose trellises to wander through.
Lilacs, forget-me-nots,
However could I?
Poppies with spots
As red as a cherry pie.
Daisies as yellows as brass
Sweet petals intoxicating my nose
Sweet perfume of freshly cut grass
And the delicate smell of a summer rose.
Heavenly, I am in heaven
Different aromas every second
Even the perfect petals run even
Nature’s wonder has beckoned.
Along my path where butterflies meet
Warming their wings against the wall
Absorbing the midday heat
Nothing worrying them at all.
Bees gather pollen eager to work
Their tiny legs carrying a heavy load
Packing in the pollen like a busy clerk
Storing each bit by colour code.
The ***** and the Violet
Well doesn’t everyone love them?
The tiny red Robin, the sky’s mad pilot
Christmas’s little scarlet gem.
The ivy and the holly
But where are they?
Berries as golden as the tea on the trolley
And as shiny fit for the Christmas bouquet.
They are waiting, in the wings
Ready for their time of the year
When everything dies, up it springs
Nothing to dread, nothing to fear.
Snow, bring it on, let the ice cover the ground.
Rich berries for the bird’s release
Their goodness, plenty to be found.
Nuts for the squirrels, food for the season.
Colours of Autumn, yellows and gold
Giving me every good reason
To enjoy life till I am old.

Silently without thought
He slides his arm around her waist.
Brushing her face with his finger
Her soul feels embraced.
Nothing needs to be said
It is written across his face
The love they feel for each other
Could never be replaced.
But there is something
Buried deep inside his head
Something to which she cannot access
Something which she will always dread.
There is a frown that passes his brow
Each time he looks lovingly at her
It rings alarm bells in her mind
An emotion she would transfer.
Does he love her? I am sure that he does
He stays with her so that is clear
A shiver runs down her spine
And now she have everything to fear.
The grip tightens
She looks at him as if she’s under review.
His icy blue eyes smile and he whispers to her
“My darling, you are my life, I do love you.

Silent whispers from Mars
Dust gathers to provoke
There is a mist over the moon
The man in the moon must have spoke.
He drifts here and there
No footprints to show his path
He silently moans, he groans
lets out the occasional laugh.
He is watching our planet
Watching the waste and mist
He whispers good nothings into the air
and desperately shakes his fist.
In despair he sends out a whisper
Blows a kiss from his icy blue hand
The deserts catch it, and keep its secret
and now it is buried beneath our sand.

Take a look, the cow’s milking itself
And the sheep are shearing their wool.
The hens gathering eggs from the shelf
And the pigs entertaining the bull.

The geese are collecting litter
Foxes are mending the fence
Farmers never been fitter
No work for him to commence.

Chickens have pecked the hedge
To make everywhere neat
Ducklings have polished the ledge
Where the farmer keeps his feet.

The plough horse back from the field
Had quite enough for one day
Now has to calculate cabbages to yield
Then clean out the hay.

This is the funny farm
Where smart animals hang out
Full of character and bags of charm
Lots to shout about.

Such is the way of the world
When one has to dodge a white light
It is not his only excuse for being nervous
But Zippy the Zebra has stage fright.

Yes, Zippy’s knees knock together
Playing a rather strange beat
Or is it his heart thumping
When the audience and himself meet.

He goes red in his worried little face
And his hooves are a little damp.
It wasn’t like that at his audition or
When he played along at boot camp.

But through thick and thin he showed up
Sitting cross legged in the line up.
The only thing that rattled then was
The spoon left in his tea cup.

But Zippy’s nerves were in tatters
He was an absolute wreck.
He could not be bothered anymore
And walked off set what the heck!

Looking at the rainbow
The colours envelope your mind
Rubies, ambers and turquioise
Peach skins and orange rind.
Strawberries and lemons in the sky
with apricots inbetween.
A strip of violets in the cloud
Like tea from Devon with cream.
A kind gentle soul emerges
with roses in abundance.
Petals scatter on her path
and fairies lead in dance.
She is wonderful, she is graceful
words without end.
She is a light shining on my dull day
She is Sally, my new friend.

Hot chestnuts warming in their skin
Wild cherries for the brandy and sloes for the gin

Bramley apples and blackberries stewing together
Halls decked with bouquets of dried heather.

Deep dark red petals from the English rose
Pineapple mint food where the rosemary grows.

Oranges and lemons added for extra taste
Walnuts for the cake and almonds for the paste.

October’s pumpkins glowing bright
Apples dripping with toffee for bonfire night.

But waiting for the polished conkers to fall
Makes autumn the best season of them all.

It was the morning after the night before
Three bullet holes were embedded in the dress.
Strangely there was no blood on the floor
You don’t need to be an expert to guess the rest.

Because the event did not happen, it was all a dream
A dream produced solely inside the pig’s head.
Things were not how they planned to be or seem
The future Mrs Pig is not real and definitely not dead.

Mr Duck slithered into the room with a pipe hanging from his beak
A stuck on pair of mutton chops and a green check cape.
Mr Pig hid behind a newspaper laughing unable to speak
Hatching a cunning plan from which to escape.

“So my dear Watson, er sorry Pig, what were you dreaming last night.”
Mr Duck was puffing awkwardly on his pipe.
I suggest I heard a scream just on when it became light
And you were muttering on about a blood type.

“Murderer” shouted Mr Pig, and then slapped his hand across his lips.
Regretting his choice of word he quickly said “moody aren’t we”
Mr Duck tried to squint at him and stood with his wing on his hips
Squinting was ******* - he could hardly focus let alone see.

He now was confused, slung off the cape which was getting hotter
That was because it burst into flames from ash from the pipe
Which promptly landed on Mr Pig’s sore trotter?
Mr Pig was oblivious to this and thought he smelt tripe.

However the newspaper he was holding went up in smoke
Mr Pig heard the crash of a saucepan and its lid.
Thinking what now has Mr Duck broke
Not realising Mr Duck had fled and hid.

Now can you guess the rest?

It was a very strange day
A day, you could say of unrest.
The day Mr Pig was wed
And wore his Sunday best.

Underneath the Duck’s frustrated wings
He had hidden a gun.
He was planning to use this weapon
Once the ceremony had begun.

The Organist commenced and
The door flung open and in she marched.
In what could only be described as a mess
That had been heavily starched.

Mr Duck felt repulsed
Somebody had failed to do their job
Mr Pig had tears in his eyes as he stared
At his white overweight blob.

Mr Pig’s pride and joy called the shots
But not the one fired from the gun
The wing took aim, the trigger released
The blob fell like the setting of the sun.

She hit the deck with an almighty thud
Mr Duck pelted into his hiding place
Where he had planned to stay the rest of the week
And the guilt wiped from his troubled little face. - to be continued ...

Mr Pig needed a plan in which to inject
He knew Mr Duck had become very hurt
So he has decided to treat the duck with respect
And buy him his favourite colour tee shirt.

That did not work so he’s bought a scouring pad
Well somewhere somehow one has to draw a line
And this thought he had made him feel really glad
Because it meant Mr Duck could make his saucepans shine.

Mr Duck was sinking into further depression
His whole being felt sort of broken.
He sat with his little face without expression
And what is more he had not spoken.

Ducks these days have to be sort of thick skinned
Especially when you run out of luck.
Life is not like a a mad, mad whirlwind
These are the thoughts from a broken duck.

Poppies, bobbing above the green
Waving heads back and forth
Dark clouds inbetween
Driving rain from the north.

Vanilla fields, soft an fragrant
Seeds sprinkle in the air
Dished out by a vagrant
He’s wooden so he wont care.

Wild strawberries, seeds on show
The only fruit inside out
In vanilla fields it will grow
Its rosy hands reaching about.

Dreamy days, creamy ways
Strawberries for tea please
Hot tea on tin trays
And strawberries to tease.

After a stroll by the lake
They were in for a surprise
Nothing could forsake
The peach melba skies.

Tangerine, rosy pinks and melon
'streaking in the sky
With a dash of sorbet lemon
A feast for the eye.

Hot raspberry colours behind a cloud
Softens the mood, taking them in
Like a farmer’s face when he’s ploughed
The blood rising in his skin.

They held hand, hearts entwined
So much in love, he kissed
Her lips, held her hand behind
And stroked her delicate wrist.

She fell even more in love
With this man, her man, her life
He noticed the peach melba skies above
And begged her to be his wife.

The scarecrow is bored playing the same old game
Cold wet clothes hanging from a wooden frame.
He has no choice but to stand perfectly still
Scaring all the bird s at the top of the hill.
A crow calls out from under the hedgerow
“Catch me, scare me old wooden scarecrow”
But the scarecrow was staring across at a stable
As he had noticed there’s food laid on a table.
“Make haste little bird and fly over to the meadow
Bring me some nice juicy berries from the mistletoe”
“Please little bird, hurry now and be on your way
And can you bring m back some of the lovely hay”
But when the crow returned he found him asleep
He had become bored counting sheep.
The Crow lay beside his feet to keep himself warm
And needed shelter from the oncoming storm.
The scarecrow awoke and looked at his shoe
He had found a friend he could talk to.

The news arrived via E-Mail
The fog draped heavy in the wood
The message read “Snail For Sale”
None of the creatures understood.
Their tiny minds had gone blank
The fog had trapped the bluebells
Perhaps it was some mad prank
Nothing round their forest sells.
The ants thought today’s climate dense
The fog had started to clear
Most of them sat on the fence
Trust the ants to interfere.
They wondered what the buyer would give
The fog had now gone.
And where would the snail live
They hadn’t considered that one.
The snail slithered past “vacancy To Let”
With a bit of a smile on his face.
He is out for all he can get
He is just renting the place!

There is a breeze
The wind is blowing the leaves
High in the trees.
There is unease
As there is a disease
In my knees.
I start to sneeze
And badly wheeze
It is starting to freeze
I am not pleased
So I go in and squeeze
Some left over cheese
On my toast.

A quote from an unknown person.
"We learn something from everyone who passes through our lives.
Some lessons are painful, some are painless, but all are priceless.

Reasons to be thankful.
Determined to care.
I am grateful
so pleased you are there.
Because if you weren't
I do not know what I would do.
Reasons to be thankful
and that is why I love you.