The rooks
Waddling
Up the roof tiles
Like drunken men

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK  2017.

She is moonbeams
And dappled sunlight
Renewal and
New beginnings
Gracing the land
With fragrant blossoms
Buzzing bees
And dandelion flurries
As children play
In Spring’s garden
Blowing happy bubbles
And laughter floats
Touching the heart and soul
She is Mistress of Spring

Kelly Rose
© April 1, 2017

It might just be a token
But I am not yet broken
It might just be a blessing
But I still hear church bells ringing
It might be a small thing
But I still remember how to sing
It might be something big
If I can still light a candle stick
I might find the light
That gives sight
Then I have to say
It's more then a token
that I am not broken.

limbs of the fallen
upon a funeral pyre
failed offerings to a careless sun
the sacred forest lies in ruin
trilliums no more to flower
silence mocks the land
no songbirds in the bower
spires from the wreckage
rise verdant and aflame
magenta resurrection
wild and untamed

Such warm inviting eyes
I see from across the room
As if they are calling out to me  
Pure joy in my heart and mind
Thinking was it like this all those
years ago when we were young and free
I wrap my arms around you so close
I can almost feel your long hair on me
Music plays softly in the background
I catch a glimpse of our reflection in the mirror
our bodies look as though one
Time seems to pass so slowly
It's as if our motion seems to bend
the very fabric of time and space
I whisper my goodbye  in your ear
Same day same time next week my dear
Oh how I just love to ride those carousels <3