A star fell down from heaven, was it you? 
A leaf fell from a tree, a little letter just for me, was it from you? 

A feather from the nest took my spirit in an arabesque, 
the birds, their voices singing through the dew, 
my dreams of you come true.

Take heart, we are apart, so long, yet messages come through, 
in such ways as only those whose sentiments 
touch nature's traits, decipher them, read what she says, 
such blessing is one's heightened sensitivity, 
when love flows with the river through this life of many joys,
awakened to all subtle things that change the light, 
colour the view, charge the psyche with new visions, 
teach us to create and recreate.

Margaret Ann Waddicor 5th July 2013

Love is the touch of one with another,
the breeze blows the frond to brush the face
we experience the sensitive stirring of the cells
they send a message to the brain
that translates them
sometimes into this state we call love
because it is up to us to be sensitive to love
it is the sense of existence that gives us joy
fills our sense of well being
with something indescribable
makes the world a place of understanding and beauty
makes life worth living.

Margaret Ann Waddicor 3rd February 2015.

It is the mystical evening
when Christmas is rejoiced
carols too are voiced

all to celebrate a man
who lived so long ago
yet only recent in our history

we do not know
his date of birth
but like to think it's now

when winter's s dark
turns into light
and lights up all the snow

this magic story still inspires
and makes all children
feel it's glow

cheers the spirits in the dim
satisfies
our every whim

life's a dream
or so it seems
yet we are in control

Margaret Ann Waddicor 24th December 2015

Stilled the mind 
trees dissolve into the ether of day 
they are 
but they are what
we are 
but we are what 
no different 
and only here when day presents its being 

others say their meaning 
are we here 
if nothing else were here
we would cease to be 
we're only here as a complimentary
opposite
to not being

as all is such 
no words describe what is
they're abstract 
all in the mind of humankind 
concocted letters composed in rows 
or backwards
upside down 
our stretching out of thoughts to find a truth 
that never can be found
our psyches continually confound

MY ART

You are my royalty
my queen
my swan
my red red rose

you who float and rock my sea
lying there beside me
as I dream

the figurehead of my ship
your presence
dominating the scene

you are my sun in winter
my rainbow
in the heat of summers brighter skies

the iris of your eyes
reflect their colours
green and blue

you'll never know
how much I love
love you

my sweetest scent
you're heaven sent

swinging in the branches
of the trees
where nightingales
sing their songs
of sensuous tones

I'll sweep you off your feet
and ride with you
the stallion of the breeze

we'll never part
you are my love
my art

Margaret Ann Waddicor 14th December  2015

Under the bleached bluff
sea shells shape the bay
the grey and white
like seagulls
shines in sun

each tuft of grass is hardy
rough
tousled by sudden wafts
of salty gusts
that ride the waves towards the land
where
free as air
the litter flies across the sands

swung in the sky
the birds are tossed
their cries
those far off saddened screams
that make the coast their theme

a contrast to the balmy days
when summer winds are warm
and breeze
a welcome sense of calm

the tide comes in
now challenging
its rattle of those shells
percussion in the out of doors

a band that takes repeats
encores
for granted
while it roars

until the change relieves its chores
receding back again
to join the great wide ocean main

Margaret Ann Waddicor 25th December 2015

The darkness folds in outside here
not to lighten
before nine in the morning
slowly turning to light again

nights are pitch black
beautiful onyx nights
that carry on their cupola
stars
just as the ceilings
in ancient Egyptian graves

silence fills the void
almost an uncanny silence
that makes one stop up
to listen

in the woods
the moss has grown so thick
and green
it almost resembles snow
passing through the many trunks of trees
we marvel at its coat

some beautiful rounded stones
making imaginary secret chests
a tiny fir growing on their velvet tops
one stone is the shape
of a pointed kind of pyramid
with moss at its summit
looking like a miniature mountain
with clouds on top