Across the rooftops the bells do sing.
Blessings lurk through the haphazard pews.
Here do not lie a low mound of shoes;
But a stock of praise and carolling.

As sparrows fly above,
And the devil lurks below.
He professes to her his love.
But disgust does she show.

I sit alone: the house is empty.
The drone of the radio
Sits in my ears. Solace.
Not alone, just lonely.

The cold blazes.
At last the sun will rise.
Morning has broken;
It is a day of rest

For some, but for me:
A day of solitary.
The day blares on,
Traffic allures the weary mind.

Am I busy?
Maybe one day…
The window is my friend;
My friend is blighting bliss.

Rain taps the landscape.
Its soft touch creates
A tender drift of mud.
In it is nature trapped.
She is her own jailor.

Alas the worms emerge
From the slow-moving slide.
The ensuing birds will purge
Yet through the air they glide.

A cloud engulfs the scene.
The spruce stands sentinel.
Mice begin to chatter between
Themselves; a peaceful hell.

For he who destroys
The scene so sculpted:
Rots among the angels
And demons who await
The devil himself.

The pavement lies along the road.
Amongst the swift passing traffic,
It remains untrodden except the bird.
A foot steps onto the tarmacked mess;
A sigh of relief from both parties emerge:
Soon the step is gone with the day.
She sits again awaiting her prize.
Alas she is relieved of her burden;
A motorway is drawn across the rolling hills.
But what will become of the lonely road?

Grit on grit will build anew.
Upon the grit, metal would flow.
Now the pavement lays no more,
Peacefully the traffic rushes along.