I wonder, love, if you see
these stars that hang over me
or if you, so far away,
forget to look up?

Love is like marrow to bone,
It stays attached whilst living,
But as love dies and weakens,
Decay breaks the bond.

I keep my words to myself.
Hidden, locked,
Buried under the earth.
Quiet, they say.
Don't you ever want to talk to us?
Open your soul to us?

I do.
All
The
Time.

And in moments like these,
A few may escape.
As poetry,
That barely tells the story.
As poetry,
That rarely makes sense.
Dented,
Tainted,
Stuttering,
Like a broken record.

But are you listening?

Whilst these icy warm chills,
Bring in the new spring,
The leaves flutter in breeze
Over the tallest of pine,
That has turned to steel
During the winter months.

Dew falls in between piled leaves
That have sat all year round
Harbouring all kinds of critters,
Thick mulch they call home
Is kicked around as we play.

Picking brambles as we go,
Trying to avoid the thorns
Like cuts to containers,
As we rummage we find,
Mushrooms of colour
Red and poker dot white.

Frantically lowering myself
To see the magical wonders,
I pick it, holding it in my palm,
Without hesitation,
I chewed it down like a Labrador
Missing several meals.

Holding onto a tree like a squirrel,
I see elephants galavanting
Pink and colourful as they dance,
In between pine and spilt wine,
Pixies leave fairy trails as they fly,
Gnomes emerge from doors in trees
Whilst I'm floating, talking to bees.

Birds are gathering all kinds of fruits,
Whilst ants are performing opera
In little tiny ant suits,
Beetles are rolling on dung *****
Whilst juggling fire,
Bugs are crawling, cricket calls,

This is the last time I pick
Mushrooms in spring.