𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠
𝑇𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛
𝐼𝑛 𝑁𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟...
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑛𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒...
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒;
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑑;
𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔;
𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠...
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠;
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒,
𝐵𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒,
𝐵𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛...
𝐵𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒...
𝐵𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘...
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠,
𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠...
                            𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑒...
                  𝑀𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟...
               𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠...
                 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒...
𝑀𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑛,
𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑒...
𝑀𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑛,
𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑...

𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑒
𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 - 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑦𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑛 -
𝐽𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦...
𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 - 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑓𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑎 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑟𝑢𝑏 -
𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑-𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠...
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑢𝑝
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑢𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠,
𝐺𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠...
𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑖𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑡,
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑
𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒;
𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛...
𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑎𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑛?
𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐸𝑢𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑦𝑝𝑡𝑢𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒
𝐹𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢...
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒
𝐹𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢...
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑;
𝐵𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔...
𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑙𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠,
𝐹𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢...
𝑂ℎ, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒!
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑤;
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠...
𝐼𝑛 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑
𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑠
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠,
𝐼𝑛 𝑦𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑠
𝑃𝑖𝑛𝑘
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑑...
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑦𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑎𝑠
𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑠ℎ 𝑎𝑖𝑟
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑎𝑐 𝑗𝑎𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒,
𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑...
𝑅𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑏𝑜𝑤 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟,
𝑅𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑖𝑙...
𝐵𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑
𝑎 𝑏𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑙𝑦;
𝑅𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑒...
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤,
𝑆𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠;
𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑎𝑡,
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑠...
𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤,
𝑆𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠;
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓
𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑠...
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑠...
𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑚𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑠...

I want to be favoured
Favoured little bird
I want your attention
to be reserved
Solely on me.

From an aerial view, the sight of a beautiful red train
chugging along down the railway track
takes my breath away;
One moment I am watching a funnel shaped smoke stack sending puffs,  
up towards the white cottony clouds then disappearing,  
and the next I am hearing the sound of a whistling blowing.
A melodious voice is heard as a conductor enounces,  
"tickets please,"
Out of my pocket I produce an admission ticket
that was long overdue ...
With one cotton white glove he presses the ticket
between his fingers then holds it up to his gold monocle and smiles ,
"welcome aboard then !"
He traipses over to supposedly important passengers that I cannot see  
and leaves me sitting there, wondering about our destination.
How I got so lucky as to enter this magical snow train I have no idea,  
but the scent of this leathery kirlian man, still clings to my thoughts
like a revenant moment from a long forgotten past.
To Be Continued...

Ardently I gaze at the glorious hemisphere,
Seamlessly stitched by the branches of a tree,
Where birds of paradise hover with glee,
A symphony of nature's artistry.

In the verdant realm of my imagination,
Where dreams and reality dance as one,
I find solace in the seamless narration,
Of what we can discover, even when my heart burns.

It's lonely times when I drink tea alone
It is an uneventful evening
I am caught up in worry clouds
Floating over my cup