A dry desert wind
Made the stinging sand swirl,
And the dense dunes drift

Vision blurred
Words choked

Speechless

Returning brings dreams of cool water
Just out of reach.

She peels each wafered layer
To expose the next.
Bitter tears lie at her heart.

Parasitic friend,
Your promises to me were
Laced with poisoned breath.

We sit cross-legged in the story corner
Breathing faint ammonia smells.
Table chants and hymns echo through corridor acoustics,
All creatures great and small.

We are wedged in a tangle of podgy thighs,
Grazed knees, scabs and warts.

And Anthony is sitting alone again
Where he can do no harm.

Yet he said he would bring it, and bring it he has.
Its tiny white head is nosing over
The  hem of his pocket,
Whiskers a-twitch and
Eyes like tiny blood blisters ripe for popping.

A shudder of shivering whispers and
Nervous heads are half turned:

Yes, Anthony is smiling his special smile.

Mrs Lloyd has found the page,
My lids are squeezed tight
As I urge my mind to follow her away
From here, away from now.

For playtime will be ****** once again.

Gold tipped crocus spears
Pierce the frost-skinned garden's heart:
Winter lies bleeding

Spring rejoices to
The trumpeting daffodils'
Triumphant fanfare

A limerick writer from Kent
Found his pencil all crooked and bent.
Though ******, licked and chewed,
It still remained skewed,
(Even stretched to its fullest extent).