The sunrise was a glowing red
As the day began frostily
Beneath the clear skies
But those skies turned grey
As the days early promise faded
Along with the light
What was clear however
Was that rain was on the way
Maybe even hill snow
But it was equally possible
That the sky will become blue again
And for some the sun may return
The mighty oak lay broken
In the wake of the
storm
And I am deeply
saddened
For as a boy I climbed
Its mighty steadfast
trunk
And sat amongst its
limbs
Sheltering beneath its
canopy
As generations of
small boys
Had done many times
before me
But then I saw an
acorn
On the ground beside
my feet
So, I picked it up and
smiled
And took it home with
me
So, I could grow his
son
The sunshine dances
On butterfly wings
As they flit and
flutter
Never still, never
pausing
As they in turn dance
To natures gentle
tune
Perched on the Apple boughs
The Finches sing a
song to please
A song carried on the
air, with
The scent of blossom
on the breeze
The powerful and beautiful song
Of the common nightingale
Has a songful rhythm and rhyme
And the small passerine bird
Whose voice belies its size
Has beauty that strikes a chord
The stream runs down the rugged hill
To where stands a
quiet water mill
And when water shoots
along the spill
The wheel is turned to
break the still
So, the miller toils
with sweat and skill
And when there are no
more sacks to fill
The sluices close and
again all’s still
