From these ruins,
   I look down,
To the life that is yours.
   And i wonder whether You
Would like,
    *To play God

There is something romantic
about
           light
                     snowfall
                                      on an early spring morning.
I just can't put my gloved finger on it...
It has something to do with
the final goodbye of Father Winter,
the last kiss
                    from
                            falling
                      flakes.
Perhaps it's the way
the birds still chase each other
despite the cold whip of the snow.
Maybe it's the way the daffodils look,
                  yellow     dresses
                         powered
                              in
                        sparking
                       diamonds,
           swaying
      slowly to
            Father's
      lulling tune.
It has something to do with the way
the waking sun
                          pours
                                    pink
                                            light
onto the dreary eyed school children

Yes, there is something romantic
about a
             light
                     snowfall
                                   on an early spring morning.
But it's heartbreaking to
crumble
                the fresh blanket,
or to watch it
             melt
                             away.
Seeing the sun
                 beating
                    heat
onto frozen grass,
until the snow
sinks or
hides in shadows.
Soon all that is left of the morning snowfall
                                                        ­                 is the crisp breeze
and the odd sense of mourning
among the spring daffodils.

You were a cup of hot coffee,
one sip of you and I was awake.
You were sugar and whipped cream and vanilla flavor,
you were steaming.
You were almost too hot.
I dropped in an ice cube to cool you off.
You were hot hot hot
until I hit a cool spot,
then you were icy cold
that made my teeth ache.
The ice melted.
You were lukewarm.
You were sweet that made my head hurt,
you were stale,
you were watered down
and thick
like flu medicine.
You stained the rim of my favorite mug.

He sniffed the wolves
~found them wanting
Wolves sniffed of him
~found him daunting

The shepherd fears
not beast of prey
With shiverin' lambs
he greets each day

Upon the hills
and braky glen~
shepherd watches
o'er his friends

And when the night
calls lambs to sleep
the shepherd sings
while grey wolves weep.

r ~ 25Mar14

yesterday is history
tomorrow is a mystery
but today is a gift
thats why its called present

Bluebells and forget me nots
That summer dress with big white spots.
My mood after a really sad play
The smell of the sea on a rainy day.
My ink on a romantic card
Pebble dashed shells crumpled and hard.
Blue eggs from rather dashing hens
The unforgettable blue biro pens.
Blue films not for the feint hearted
Shiny blue butterflies for the departed.
Why do blue sweets taste the best
Obviously because they are better than the rest.
Blue oh I love blue skies
and most of all I adore blue eyes.