I met a young lady of a certain profession
Who said, “sir, do please show some discretion!”,
Her name is Miss Bess
And here is her address –
But no! I think I should show more discretion!
Being Discrete
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Tag Archives: rhyming poetry
Forestry
I listen dutifully as he speaks of forestry.
A soft breeze whispers in trees
And I am far away where wind plays
Through the forest and through me.
A Review of My Poetry Collection, Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death
My thanks to Robbie Cheadle for interviewing me and reviewing my poetry collection, “Passing Through: Some Thoughts on Life and Death”. To read my interview and Robbie’s review of “Passing Through”, please visit https://writingtoberead.com/2025/09/17/treasuring-poetry-kevin-morris-shares-about-his-book-passing-through-some-thoughts-on-life-and-death-and-a-review-poetry-poetrycommunity-treasuringpoetry/
Invisible
The wind is an invisible thing.
We see the waving trees
And leaves blown in the breeze.
I hear the wild wind
But him I do not see.
Walking Though the Graveyard in the Pouring Rain
Walking through the graveyard in the pouring rain
I do not feel alone
Nor do I regret the wet
For I can feel the heavy rain
While those who sleep beneath the gravestones
Are company for me.
And these old churchyard trees
Thrive in the rain.
Too Much Latin
There once was a great lover of Latin
Who had a job as a professional assassin.
Whilst reading great Virgil
He became very ill.
That’s what comes of reading too much Latin!
On a September Day
On a September day
I kicked a stick away.
That branch once danced
In the soft spring air.
Now I, with no care
Kick it along the forest floor
For it will dance no more
And eventually decay
I smile today
But in time will find decay.
Childhood
The sound of the ice cream van
Reminds me of my childhood.
I could rhyme of an innocent time
Before I became a man
When all was good.
But a monster got inside my head.
He is long dead.
Yet still I find in my mind
Him lurking somewhere there.
And I feel that childhood pain again.
Sometimes I am free
In my poetry.
Autumn Has Come
Autumn has not yet come.
Yet the sun shines
On dry leaves.
I find in my mind
That Autumn has come
And my leaves
Have Turned to grey.
But I am still here
In this fading year
Though my May
Has long since run away.
We go through birth.
Then, like leaves
We feed the earth.
But before we fall
We enjoy the bird’s call.
Though none can outrun
The setting sun.
Dawn who Like to Eat Acorns
When a young lady known as Dawn
Went and swallowed acorns on the lawn,
And they said to her, “dear!
Trees will sprout from your ear!”,
She said, “pardon!”, and swallowed another acorn
K Morris - Poet 