The student monk had spent seven years,
Learning how to comprehend awareness.
At the end of his study it was time for assessment,
To visit the master was his final assignment.
Scratchy nib on wooden stick,
Dipped in inkpot desk set.
For fifty years no poem I wrote,
No thought of verse or rhyme.
I never saw Mam and Dad kiss,
Not even a peck on the cheek;
At last the weather's looking fine,
No more rain the earth will dry.
Time to plough the field for spuds,
But Duncan's tractor's rounding up.
Nora and Dorothy are off to Mass;
Everyday they tread the same path.
Whether hail, rain or shine,
This pair will find the time.
See little babes on the floor,
Moving limbs in time with tempo.
Automatically relating to music,
Not taught, naturally driven.
Surrounded by sights and sounds,
Foreign to my narrow mind.
Have tried to record the affect on me,
With the aid of this little diary.
Beach shack skeletons lying on sand;
Permit crises got out of hand.
Hotels complain they're loosing trade;