Watercolour Leaves

Watercolour leaves, Rain water rivers- Tred lightly, whispering To the flowers, ‘when will Summer come?’ They answer With a wave and I thank then For their time, still unsure if They mean ‘be patient’ or ‘Don’t be stupid’.   Little pebble stepping stones, Beneath fairy light stars. Hopping over ripples, Praying to the fish and…

Up On Broomhill

Blacks clouds crackle like static And cause my roses to wilt and waste away, So instead of picking flowers I end up raising the dead Who ride on the wind To arrive like thieves at my door. I am almost tempted to let them in, But they’d only turn to dust To dance and swirl…