On cold grey days, a piper plays
his pibroch on the battlements.
Clad in the garb of bygone days.
He proudly plays his clans lament.
...
The morning always comes too soon,
when you are locked in loves embrace
You much prefer the gentle moon
to the suns bright shining face.
...
They tried a cordon sanitaire
in an attempt to stop the spread.
The virulence was every where
the lucky ones already dead.
...
His life is drawing to its close.
He has lived past three score and ten
and has no reason to suppose
That he should know the how and when.
...
Across the meadows bells are ringing.
Overhead the birds are winging
homewards to their roosting place
As twilight falls, the hour of grace
...
The soulless city lies in wait
to capture young ambitious fools
Who think that they can demonstrate
they have no need to obey rules.
...
I’m waiting though impatiently
but don’t know what I’m waiting for.
A high state of expectancy.
I’ve often felt like this before.
...
The sun across the lake sinks low.
The birds have sung their even song.
The hills still basking in the glow
of crimson rays which wont last long.
...
The lady is quite frankly fat.
but does not let it bother her.
She’ll openly admit to that
because she knows that men prefer.
...
A lawn without a weed it seems
would satisfy most gardeners dreams
But not for me I much prefer
to see a daisy here and there.
...