In mid April
The birds sing
And start
A rill
Of hope in my heart.
Surely this Covid thing
Will pass?
But, for now lad
And lass
Are glad
That birds still sing
In spring.
In Mid April
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Tag Archives: nature
I Walked The Woodland Path
I
Walked the woodland path
And passed
By
Tall, slender flowers.
Now I
Traverse, in verse
That self-same path,
And grow flowers
In my mind.
The flowers
May be gone tomorrow.
For I find
That we borrow
Time.
True, many a rose
Has been emmortalised in rhyme
But the poet knows,
That he has limited time.
Strolling Through the Graveyard in Early April
Strolling through the graveyard in early April,
I enjoy the warm sunshine.
I am not sure of the divine.
Still,
A man may take pleasure
Whilst not knowing whether
Mother Nature, or the Creator
Causes the sun to shine.
Both are divine.
And a minuscule
Virus does wait,
Unseen by the eyes,
To seal the fate
Of the fool
And the wise,
For it does not discriminate.
Daisies
The daisies remain,
Although not the same
As those I saw
Carpetting Nature’s floor,
When, as a child
I ran wild
And free.
I can almost see
The Daisy Chain,I made from nature’s great store.
Better to have left them on her green floor.
As it is much easier to disrupt than construct.
And the chain I composed
On the school playing field
Did yield
To time.
Am I arrogant to suppose
That this little rhyme
May outlast the brief hour
Of a daisy flower?
At A Time of Lockdown
At a time of lockdown
Some drown
Their sorrows, in beer or gin.
Yet alcohol is not
The only form of sin.
True, some may lose themselves in art.
But others grow hot.
Drink and art
Can not suffice.
Thoughts turn to vice.
Anticipation of pleasure,
For the coming warm weather
Will bring
(In summer and spring)
Roses into bloom.
And, despite the lockdown
Some men will not resist the perfume
Of roses.
The poet composes
And thinks “the woodland path
Along which I pass
Has no flowers in bloom,
But soon
Their scent will delight
Both day and night.
And I shall pass by
With a sigh.
Yet the woodland path
Is not wide
And when, on each side
There are such sweet blooms,
‘Tis not easy to pass,
And some may stray
From the narrow way …”.
He Stood to the Side of the Path
He stood to the side of the path
So that I might in safety pass.
I turned my face away
On a beautiful, spring day.
But thanked him with a smile, while
Pondering on what constitutes a safe distance,
And the persistence
Of common courtesy.
And what did he
Think of me
As I turned my face away?
I can not say,
But suspect he understood
As we did pass
Along that tranquil, woodland path.
I Saw A Great Bough
I saw a great bough
Brought low.
But oh
How the birds sing,
And soon, it will be spring.
Bowed
A tree branch, bowed
Half blocked the track.
I did not turn back
But ducked under.
There it stands,
Guarding the path.
Bowed by the recent wind.
Nature will have the last laugh,
Whether this tree
Outlasts me,
Or no.
The Song of the Wind
The wind gusts.
Human lusts
Are strong.
But, as I sit in my home,
I remember long
Gone Rome.
And listen to the eternal sing,
Of the gusting wind.
Fragile
An insect
Brushed against my head.
I showed it respect,
For soon it will be dead
And an insect
Is fragile
As a girl’s smile.
A kiss.
Or the bliss
Of bed.
And the wind blew chill
And will
Do still,
When I am dead.
K Morris - Poet 