Let's oftener talk of noble deeds
and rarer of the bad ones,
and sing about our happy days
and not about the sad ones.
We are not made to fret and sigh,
and when grief sleeps, to wake it,
bright happiness is standing by
this life is what we make it.

Let's find the sunny side of men.
Or be believer in it
a light there is in every soul
that takes the pains to win it,
Oh; there is slumbering good in all,
and we perchance may wake it.
Our hands contain the magic wand,
this life is what we make it.

Then here's to those whose loving hearts
shed light and joy about them
thanks to them for countless gems
we ne'er had known without them:
Oh; this should be a happy world,
to all who may partake it.
The fault's our own if it is not
this life is what we make it.

Revolving, evolving
this earth its changing coat
a flower

We are the elements toys 
played with by the will of the winds 
our seasons come and go as theirs do 
we are fruitful in youth
matured in old age 
sometimes we fall too soon 
before we're ripe 
at other times we rot on the tree

we have almost as much say in the matter 
as an apple 
our very nature 
governing much of what happens to us 
freak meetings 
from them develop blights or flights of fancy 
swinging with the patterns of the seasons 
fixed in the mud of convention 

unless we're free 
free of the world's moral codes 
yet keeping to those of worth 
existing as best we can under the heavens 
on this beautiful crust of earth 
until we meld into 
and become again 
a part of its make up 
in harmony with its ecosystem

Margaret Ann Waddicor 15th September 2015

Strange music
from the wayside shrine
wind
the wind at prayer
'tis in the mind
creative brain
mankind 

Belief in devils
gods and kings
all kinds of things
mankind

Dare devil deeds
and sudden wars
misunderstandings
mankind

Polluted forests
human waste
fills all the waterways
rots vegetation
blind
mankind

Dreamed Utopias
when our earth is one
soon to be gone
mankind                                  

Margaret Ann Waddicor 19th May 2013.

Snowy sentiments silted up
the soft sediment of my senses,
sifting silently my dreams
of sensitive seduction,
solely to send my thoughts to shores
with coloured sands and stunning steep sights
with sweeps of sea, that swell so high
the sun scintillates the surface spray
shimmering and shining,
spreading over the horizon,
as the soughing of the wind swings seagulls,
swooping serenely southwards,
past the slabbery seashells
and slap-happy waves that swish up the beach,
soporifically smudging seaweeds
against the sleeping surface
of the smooth glacial rocks,  
spattering silky foam in spots
of saffron-tinted shapes, over their structures,
surreptitiously sinking into the saline cracks.

Margaret Ann Waddicor February 2013.

The birches branches
are blown to the north
on Christmas Day
on Christmas Day

no snow this winter
no snow
no snow

the clouds obliterating the view
so low today
so low

they're making my head feel bad
when it's time to be glad so happy and glad

oh why do the elements cry just now
hang like a shroud
instead of a rainbow

send us a rainbow
right now
just for now
to cheer up our trees
and our lakes in the view

for others
for others
for me
for you

Margaret Ann Waddicor 24th December 2015

That which exists 
exists in our minds 
our consciousness defines what we see 
each conscious person defines reality in their own way 
each thing or person is only there 
by there being other beings
with which to interact compare or touch 

each sense its different description of what is 
what is is as much what we make it 
as our lives are 
we make our lives 
parents try to mould and guide us
but if we are strong enough 
we judge for ourselves what is
and what to do about it.

Margaret Ann Waddicor April 2015