And there she stands.
A woman in her own right.
Bringer of love.
Giver of life.
She has sparkles in her fire filled eyes.
Bearing a smile a mile wide.
Decisions she makes bear issues to many.
Without her woman's hood.
Would not be any.
Delightful.
A lady.
Frightful.
Maybe.
She has wiles.
Endures trials.
You think you control her dials.
You know she knows.
You won't admit it.
She knows she will win.
(c)LIVVI

I have a sword.
My sword is my fountain pen.
It bleeds navy blood.
It is my soldier.
My sailor.
Personal tinker.
Begotten tailor.
Fashionable.
Passionate.
My own redeemer.
I have my own shield.
Feel it.
Green.
Bright.
Protective.
My hands hide behind it.
Safety in numbers.
I can count on my fingers.
If nothing else.
The words of my sword.
And the hold of my shield.
Always my wealth.
Protectors of health.
(c)LIVVI

Crunch underfoot.
Climbing crawling.
Watch where you're walking.
The birds they are hungry.
Missing out to clumsy feet.
So are the French.
"ESCARGOT"
Bon appetite.....
Yuck.
(c)LIVVI

What will thy recall of me.
When my heart has drifted out to sea.
When I cruise on clouds.
Dance on air.
No longer loud.
Who will know I was ever there.
I have not the impact of an empress.
Nor the magic of a sorceress.
Have not the beauty of a starlet.
I shall maybe just vanish into space.
Become another forgotten statistic.
A name without a face.
(c)LIVVI
Selfishly inspired by the death of Sir George Martin.

Pluck stars from the night sky.
Juggle with them.
As if they're a cosmic Catherine wheel.
Northern lights.
Most personal.
Whoosh.
Whirl.
Riding the sky at night.
Hop on a rainbow.
Ride the tide.
Spring is uncoiling.
(c)LIVVI

Grow old with me, with a smile in your eyes.
Ache with me as a heavy aged rock.
Battered by breezes.
Beaten by storms.
Frozen stiff.
Solid.
Unity of souls.
Natural resistance.
Earthy whistles.
The wind's getting up.
Seen much.
Done less.
Set in the ways of the world.
A tor standing solid upon a windy moor.
Reliant on warming sun.
Washed by precious raindrops.
A leaning spot for weary souls.
Travellers rest.
(c)LIVVI

A house should have.
Love coursing
through it's veins.
From the foundations.
Homes build nations.
Where lovers live.
It should carry the voices of children.
As they're playing at childish dreams.
It needs feeling.
Senses.
Wealth of smells.
Many more smiles.
It should be a haven outside heaven.
Cosy as an egg cup.
With a hat on ,
That's the roof.
Warm and protective.
(c)LIVVI