Squirrel

Squirrel,
wrecker of the bird feeder,
I do not begrudge you your meal;
it is winter and you are hungry too.
How I enjoy your antics but —
a little less destruction
if you will.

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Echoes

The house looks bare,
the tinsel’s gone,
the baubles packed away,

no holly swags
now deck the halls,
no berries bright and gay.

Our feasting’s done,
just echoes now,
no carols left to sing,

but all around
I see the signs;
soon it will be Spring.

Romany Caravan

Trundling down the road comes
a barrel-shaped Romany Caravan,
drawn by a horse with its gentle clip-clopping,
holding up the traffic
but no-one really minding
as cars slowly pass, occupants smiling.

Strange Things

What strange things some people do.
Yesterday a lady I do not know
was plucking handfuls of grass
from the roadside verge
and stuffing it into a plastic bag.

Politeness got the better of curiosity —
I did not stop to ask but walked on by
as if it was nothing out of the ordinary
while pondering what explanation
might have emerged.

Dry

I’m hanging washing on the line.
Later forecast – heavy rain.
Here’s hoping I
can get it dry
before I get it in again.

Kite

Oh what a plight,
for the last two days
no wind in sight.
Grandson’s new kite
cannot take flight.

What can I say?
Bring out the kite,
wind’s on its way,
better luck today,
let’s go and play.

Grumble

Watering garden pots again
we all grumble we need rain,
but if and when the rain does come
still we’ll grumble, wanting sun.

Death

Death
in all its gory
detail –

road kill
score:
3 foxes, 1 badger,

all
in the space
of a few
miles.

January Joy 18

Searching for joy,
what can I see?
A bright breasted robin
in the bare cherry tree
flit down to the feeder,
grab just one seed,
then into the hedge
at remarkable speed.

Winter Woollies

By gum, the house is cold,
were we away so long?
We’re wearing winter woollies,
trying to get warm.
The sun is shining here and there,
through blue patches in the sky,
perhaps we’ll soon feel warm again;
at least the day is dry.

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