WHEN THE MORNING DEW DOES FALL

When the morning dew does fall
Falling from the open air
Where does it fall?
Tell me, tell me --where?

When the morning dew does fall
On my fair maiden’s golden hair
I shall write her a love poem
‘  You are the fairest of the fair’.

The dew will glow in lustre
Truly jealous am I of its pride
Shining like a pure diamond
Revelling in her hair---setting me aside.

I must kiss her dew-starred hair
To out-rival the covetous and unfair dew
Her love is all I live for
I shall whisper ‘ Forever I will love you’.

Murmurings of words
so long unspoken,
now sent out across
the curved expanse
of our spherical home.
Murmurings of all our
voices and languages,
coalesced into one.
Winging out into open
space, like the nimble
murmurations of birds,
never quite touching,
yet deftly creating
virtual shapes,
markings recognizable
only from a distance.
Do birds' own souls
unfurl and unfold in
these undulations?
Starlings find aerial
corridors, travelling
together swiftly, so
to stay warm. Do we?
These murmurings,
our word-murmurations,  
fly out into the space between us,
swiftly curving back, and then back again,
before dipping low, then nesting deeply,
so very deeply, into sweetest sleep.

Once and for all
We can finally see
Who our true friends
Are, most of them are
On the internet
Others are just waiting
To be found

Born of a man who smiles
Never would he have a frown
A friend to walk with for miles
A king without a crown

They said he had special needs
But his heart would never fail
He would only do good deeds
Everybody knew of Timothy Dale

Always he had something special to say
He would stay with you, yes he would
He would always brighten up your day
Always trust in Timothy Dale you could

Even those who began treating him bad
They tried to make poor Timothy cry
He would even help them if they were sad
Timothy Dale, even for his enemies he would try

Children loved to hear him tell his stories
To tell them, well, he was the best
Told of long ago heroes and their glories
Told how they braved the trickiest quest

A time came when Timothy Dale grew old
And then poor Timothy Dale cried
There were no more tales left to be told
That was the day when a whole town cried

Those who would say poor Timothy was not bright
The entire town said he was the cleverest man
Now Timothy Dale is up in Heaven's light
He is telling Angels all the stories he can

the night frosted in silver,
shadows and moons,
iron ghosts stretching
into the darkness,
unravelling the song
of the tide.