Month: May 2026

We too inhale this Pungently infectious scent Our ancestors smelt

A sea of clover Shows us which way the wind blows But questions still grow

Fire, food, friends, fortune Is not the things you possess But the things you share

Reeds whisper when blown Let the current take me home The heron has flown

Time cannot be made Can’t beg, borrow, steal or save Ticking to the grave

Ripples on the stream Where to paddle is to dream We make our own steam

Life is made of days Though they all must pass away Make memories stay

Tarmac rivers flow With noisy choking splutter Buried in culverts

Rising from the swamp Ancient hawthorn still clings on Waiting for no one

Between joyous shrieks Frogs leap across busy creeks Silence slowly sleeps

With the marshes drained And every mystery explained Where does magic lay?