MORNING GLORY

 

It was in the bright spring morn

The birds awoke at crack of dawn

Though the light was still dim

They hop twixt branch and limb

Day begins with the dawn chorus

And starts the day for all of us

SPRING IS SPRUNG

 

Hallelujah

Its spring again

With warm sunshine

In between showers of rain

 

Hallelujah

The spring is here

It’s such a joy

All at once the senses clear

 

Hallelujah

Spring has begun

New life everywhere

All at once cobwebs are gone

 

Hallelujah

Its spring once more

This one is better

Than the one we had before

 

Hallelujah

Its spring again

Not so clever

When you’re caught in the rain

 

Hallelujah

The springs nearly over

Bloody showers

Still it will soon be summer

OLD WATER

Why does mineral water?

That started in the mountains

As melting snow and ice

Feeding streams and fountains

And has trickled through

Granite rock and slate

For countless centuries

Need to have a 'use by' date?

THE HEDGEHOG CULL

 

The campaigners have won

The Hedgehog cull won’t be done

They argued it shouldn’t go ahead

It was just wrong they said

Saying they were un putdown-able

I think they are just un pickup-able

BUTTERFLIES FLUTTER BY # 2

Butterflies flutter by

On pale Cabbage white wings,

Heralds of beauty

RUNNYMEDE

 

I sit in the green and pleasant corner of this land known as Runnymede where the Thames laps its way ever closer to London.

Trees line the river’s edge and the Willows that stand weeping into the river might well be weeping for what man has done to the land.

For this place though beautiful still was once more so.

The senses cannot fail to notice man’s hand, the ears are assailed by the constant hum of motorway traffic and by jets arriving and departing Heathrow and the nostrils are filled with the stench of aviation fuel.

The area is littered with inappropriate buildings and roads of every type scar the land.

On the river the surface of the water bares the tell-tale rainbow pattern of patches of fuel slick and at its edge the 21^st century flotsam of tin cans, McDonald’s wrappers, fag ends and paper cups.

If King John, who under pressure from his barons signed the Magna Carta here in 1215, was to stand here now and see what we have done he might well fall upon his own sword.

THIS TALK OF CULLING BADGERS

 

This talk of culling badgers

Is completely unsound

If we keep discussing it

We’ll drive them underground