Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which may be the chosen spot.
No toad spy you,
Hovering bird of prey pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.

January cold desolate;
February all dripping wet;
March wind ranges;
April changes;
Birds sing in tune
To flowers of May,
And sunny June
Brings longest day;
In scorched July
The storm-clouds fly
Lightning torn;
August bears corn,
September fruit;
In rough October
Earth must disrobe her;
Stars fall and shoot
In keen November;
And night is long
And cold is strong
In bleak December.

Oil on the water

Gentle spilling colours

Tumbled greens and inky blues

Fade to yellow and pinky hues

Filling the puddle

A requiem for rainbows

I don't mind
Working in the rain.

It makes coming home
More of a special occasion.

Sometimes I smile
Through a wet beard,
And think about how
Good my bed will feel.

Along with the morning mists
The tender leaves gently  uncurl
Soak in the first rays of the Sun
Listen closely to the dew
And its translucent views
Up in the mists
Rolls the voice of the soul
Behold

🌿🌿