Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 12 · 91
Strange Times
Olivia Kent Apr 12
I have a penthouse apartment in the back of beyond.
It's in the distance.
Painted on a skyline,
Silhouetted in ebony black.
It's in another city,
I know not where.
It has darkness and sorrow,

Maybe finding it is attainable.
A raven, flies over somewhere.
Potent portent of doom,

I invented it as I'm sat in my room.
Boredom taking hold.
It's being bold,
So am I.

How dare it I ask,
I ask myself.
I ask you?

I'm willing to view in the eye of my wild mind,
A future filled passion, that we all shall find.

We'll catch a ball.
A perfect globe.
Dress it with high fashion.
Caress it with love.
The world the wonder,
Wearing nowt except a protective verdant glove.

We will arise.
Open your eyes.
See beyond the darkness.
For there will surely be light.

Apr 12 · 73
And so it must be!
Olivia Kent Apr 12
Apocalyptic pockets, emptying their sorrow,
Careful pockets filled with love abound.
Selfless pockets, astounding,
Pockets, fragile pockets.
Hiding indoors, make not a sound.
Advice falling on ears that hear now.
No street walking.
Stay out of the shop.
Reduction in numbers soon,
Maybe tomorrow,
Or the day after.
These darkened moments will stop.
They must,
Fill up your metaphoric pockets, with unreal angel dust.
As only you must!
Apr 12 · 53
Living Lockdown
Olivia Kent Apr 12
All afternoon, sat in my vitually empty room.
My love mutt curled up beside me like a snorting fire free dragon.
Every so often, she will spring into early summer action, telling the garden birds to *******.
After her crazy mouthy attack, she curls up and goes back into a deep sleep.
I peep at her chest, it's rising comfortably now

Most, of the moments I spend with her are just mellow,chilled.

Watching the garden birds flitting freely.
Those birds, ignorant in their sundance.
No rhyme, no reason.
A brief divebomb of sorts, snicking at birdseed in a metal tub.

Mrs Mutt,
She toodles out for a twinkle.
No birds about now,
I guess they're skipping out.
Unused to the enforced tranquility.

"Praise be."
Dem boids be free.

Our time it shall come again.
For now, indoors we must be.
Must stay.
Creativity and passion,
Without exit, so it must be.
Apr 12 · 292
Olivia Kent Apr 12
We lived a bit,
We celebrated the god of the sun...oooh Raa,
We sat in our houses, aware of the mouses,
We watched birds through the patio doors.
We cheered, that the goddess is here smiling.
She is most welcome.
Life goes on regardless,
But we sit indoors blooming in our own ways.
For we need to.
We must.
P.s. Raa was a Male deity, Eyptian Sun God,
I'm just weird thinking of the sun as a Goddess,
She's just glorious in my bizarre way out way x
I know the plural of mouse  is mice...mouse was just x
Dec 2017 · 1.4k
Olivia Kent Dec 2017
Post person or whatever.
Always turning up.
Regardless of the weather
I feel for the postie upon this chilly day.
Relied upon to bring with him, all Christmas in his sack.
Bringing bills and festive notes from Southampton to John'O'Groats.
No suprise from Santa Claus.
Just a chilly postman going to the doors.
Through rain and snow the postman goes.
Trotting with his smile intact.
Waiting for Christmas to come around again.
His mailbag always laden, that's a fact for sure.
I wonder when the day of e-cards supercede.
The postman may redundant, not coming to my door!
Thank you post person,
You do a vital job.
Nov 2017 · 1.2k
Olivia Kent Nov 2017
Fairies feel the winter chill,
The cold does make them ill,
Some fellow being kindly ,gave them spirits of his own.
The fairy folk are staggering,rolling through the trees.
Their noses run incessantly.
Hear them fairies sneeze.
They're making an awful lot of noise.
This bunch of drunken fairies are but ,raucous girls and boys.
They have had a huge amount of fun but the headaches that follow the whiskey,mean they're hiding from the sun.
Lovely little creatures strolled into the shop.
Needed analgesia to make these headaches stop.
The doctor couldn't see them.
He didn't have the time.
The secretary for human health, well he can't treat poorly fairies as he doesn't have the wealth.
Lets hope the fairies settle and get better very soon,
Fairies only party once in a blue moon.
Nov 2017 · 682
Olivia Kent Nov 2017
The fields are stained with red, not whine.
The fields cry loudly without harmony.
The air is filled with violence,
Painting the air in shades of blue and black.
Onwards they go, no turning back.
An odd bird, bedraggled by the passing bullets at speed.
Uncertain future awaits.
Blinded by the flashes of the fighting.
An encore,
And another.
Jul 2017 · 922
Olivia Kent Jul 2017
Four hundred thousand soldiers slain, were drowned within unholy mud.

Corpses of the now redundant gave their best and got their worst.

Men in boots in July seen.

Images none desire upon the front of magazines.

Their guns were emptied, their lives were spent.

Lived for the moment, only lent.

Brave men all of them young,loyal and true.

Another Belgian battlefield echoed with the failing death.

So sad, boys, nearly men caught their last breath.

Bless the battlefield upon which they fell,relieved of sounds of gunfire, as they left the war raged hell.

Bravery from all sides shown,by young in spirit, never grown.

Guessing with death came freedom, unpleasant release.

Jul 2017 · 648
Olivia Kent Jul 2017
My peace is in bits,

My bits are in pieces.

I'm forced,through a colander through dreams what got broke.

I'm choking on a passion which hangs round my neck.

I'm broken and battered,

Life on the whole is doing me in.

I'm fighting a battle

Got not no chance of winning.

There will be no awards for me in this role.

A tumbled disaster I've lost all my goals.

There is monster living under my dress,

My monster is criminal, it's first name is stress.

It affects my being, it affects every function.

Between here and there and then and now.

In my dark space

I'm stuck at the junction.

I so detest it.

Jul 2017 · 602
Olivia Kent Jul 2017
Where are you now?
I sit and peer out of the window.
It's getting stormy.
He let go!

Where are you going, my friend?
Are you fighting lightening flashes?
Reverberating to the thunder's beat.

Child, I asked you to hold on to the string tightly.

We stood and watched from the ground as you floated away.
Awesome helium balloon,
Flying wild and free.

I wonder do you have many friends accompanying you as you go dancing through the cloud's cover.
Avoiding beaks of passing birds.
Birds calling out with novel songs.........!
Grandson released a helium balloon!
Jul 2017 · 572
Olivia Kent Jul 2017
Had an adder in my garden,
His name was Abacus,
A simple snake was he.
He never ever dared to bite,
And his sums were always right.
Jul 2017 · 501
Olivia Kent Jul 2017
Seeking fortune in the bottom of my tea cup.
From the top lip I sip.
Swillling  my brew.
Debating spitting out,
Ooh, I got confused,
Maybe I thought I was wine tasting,
They say Jesus turned water in to wine.
I had tea, so he didn't touch mine.
There were no tea leaves at the base of my cup.
Do you know why that could possibly be?
I drink coffee, rarely tea.
The error of judgement was made me.
Not a tea leaf in sight.
Jul 2017 · 1.1k
Olivia Kent Jul 2017
I had a pair of goldfish,
Neither had a soul, maybe they did,
Spiritual fish possibly?
Aimlessly swimming around thei goldfish bowl.
Every day, day in, day out,
Poor flipping creatures,
They never get out!
If they were fed up, never would they shout.
Last week it seems, the golden chap he became deceased!
A glorious funeral was had by he, he had a final journey, travelling out to sea,
Yesterday his cell mate, the black chap had his last day.
He travelled out to see.
Darling sweetest goldfishes, got funerals they both deserved.
Military honour for brave goldfish.
The black one and the gold one too,
A ceremonial flushing by way of household loo.
One hundred deceased goldfish all standing on parade.
Together flowing through the sewer,
Good night sweet fishes,
Enjoy your journeys to the sea,
Escaped eternal confinement, from depths of goldfish tank.
Enjoy the ever after, ride the tide the two of you,
The water in the solent, probably not too blue.
Apr 2017 · 589
Olivia Kent Apr 2017
Syria, the land of sin,
Struggling breath.
Peeling skin.
Born to die upon sad day.
The cruellest beast.
The devil's way.
Sons and daughters caught in blast.
That day they woke, became their last.
Let this ****** madness end.
A world that man may still depend on.
Save us all before it's gone.
Mar 2017 · 553
Olivia Kent Mar 2017
In auburn the sun fell.
In crimson she rose again.
As a gift of entrancing love.
My flowers overt, with inverted bells.
An infusion of Lila , green and white.
The spring sprung forth from earth so deep.
Leaving winter doth but weep.
A scene from seasons.
Of row boats and true love.
Of coffee with cream.
Photographs on front covers of many magazines.
Periodicals they speak.
Peace descends amidst those flowers.
Many more hours.
Sun hats and short sleeves.
Mystically weaving.
Gossamer strings,
Such pretty things.
Feb 2017 · 496
Olivia Kent Feb 2017
And the crack heads were standing around on the corner.
Eyes hanging on stalks.
As eagles they watch.
The girls walk by with their handbags on arms.
Flashing their smiles and immense lucky charms.
And they chase her down the road, like god awful toads.
Who thinks that they're hot,
I assure you they're not.

Their faces laden with swollen oozing pores.
Result of a good many scores.

One's nose kept on streaming, his throat's really sore,
His head, always believing his feet miss the floor.

As he vomits in the corner, he expects her to care.
She looks straight through him as if he's not there.
Not a care did she give,
All she muttered was "***** you"!
Feb 2017 · 395
Olivia Kent Feb 2017
Death stands on the corner, picking pockets of the passers by.
Looking for discard sweets and transport tickets.
He's hungry.
Not collections.
He hasn't had a sweet for years.
He pinches a toffee encased in a cellophane wrapper.
You may just see him standing there, sickle leaned against the goth shop wall.
He is a bit cheesed off.
Begging for help.
Unwrapping it impossible.
Bony metacarpals no use.
All he can do when he opens it, is ****.
The shop staff, all willing to help.
A little scared of death himself.
Looked into his hollow sockets.
Oh F**K
The goths loved death and so it was done.
Death had a toffee,
His wish was won!
Feb 2017 · 449
Olivia Kent Feb 2017
The blind man in the corner of the pottery class, moulds his unseen wife between his hands,
He creates a figurine with slender arms.
******* in perfect proportion.
Hips of mature woman.
A bobble nose, with a chin that's dimpled.
Bob shaped hair.
All from the mind's eye.
With assistance, her eye shaped is made, brow line pinched into place.
Formed a skirt down to her feet.
Baked it in the rapid kiln.
For the day of Saint Valentine.
He made for his beautiful wife, the perfect treat.
Feb 2017 · 701
Olivia Kent Feb 2017
There is monster.
He lives in my cupboard.
My wardrobe in fact.
He's green with pink and purple spots.
He wears a frilly floppy hat.
Tragic really.
He never speaks to me.
He gives me a sly wink and grin when I open the door.
His eyes are that of saucer size not far away from dinner plates.
Today h
He smiled at me.
His teeth are pearly white.
A couple of canine fangs in fact
Incisors in between.
You know what?
When the sun rises and I go to seek my uniform he's nowhere to be seen.
Left behind,only puddle of neon green.
He's always dressed in green with spots of purple and pink.
It made me think.
Maybe a little presumptive me is believing that he's a he.
When perhaps he's a she.
Feb 2017 · 340
Olivia Kent Feb 2017
Breathing's carcinogenic, when breathing the wrong things.
Smoking cigarettes.
Laying smog,
Hit the chest like an old dog.
Pollution overload.
Drink and drugs are killing you,
Life's problems, induced by man's behaviour.
Fatty foods and alcohol sure ain't nobody's saviour.
They say that Joan's got a big heart,
It's loaded up with body mass.
And it's the vessel full of poison punch, that John drank from,
That made his liver bigger.
A mass collection of varices float around his swollen belly,
Much the same for Julia.
As if they didn't realise,
It's all over the telly.
Jenny had ****** relations with far too many men,
All the children that she's left with, flock to their mother hen.
A life full of demanding,
With little reprimanding.
But then,
They're living on the breadline,
Mother must be careful, not to burn their toast,
Another ****** carcinogen,
Most people love a cuddle, but no one wants a stroke !
Feb 2017 · 476
Olivia Kent Feb 2017
The wolf bays, as sundown falls.
He's singing to the moon.
Hark his fearsome calls.
Big in stature, almost screaming, as his ******* swoon.
Running through the undergrowth,his pack aside.
That pack ventures forth.
Due north of course.
There's an elk in the open, grazing,
A little late I know.
Hears the baying wolf coming,
Off he goes.
Fellows from the pack of lupines,
Left eating worms,
Got no grub.
Ain't got no satisfaction.
Maybe tomorrow night.
If they stay silently out of sight.
Feb 2017 · 342
Olivia Kent Feb 2017
Beside the river,
Straw in hat,
Sketching visions from my mind,
Merging them, with that I see.
I sip my whine deliberately,
Always moaning,
That's just me.
In front of this tiger's eye,
A dancing streak of fish doth fly.
In the sunlight glinting,
Against the sun my eyes be squinting.
Sat on the checked rug a flick of the wrist,
There went that bug!
I turn,
Dreaming I'm kissing you,
Guess the truth of the matter is maybe I'm missing you!
Feb 2017 · 626
Olivia Kent Feb 2017
Etched spicy words on squares of glass.
A little bit cathartic.
Release the words of fiery flies.
The world may read with perfect eyes.
Creeping increase in temperature,
Freedom of letters,
None can see or feel these words,
Dispatched on rise in Celsius.
A puddle in a pile of dust.
One thing is that, of that I'm sure.
Jan 2017 · 374
Olivia Kent Jan 2017
It swallowed a dictionary..
It did, it was a hexagonal lexicon,
It got stuck in the oesophagus of the great white whale.
He choked and choked deciding that he needed to clear his throat,
It was getting quite distressed,
Poor thing.
Threw him a packet of PPIs (proton pump inhibitor's,
(Rennie or the like)
Have you ever witnessed a whale ***** before?
The whale's throat was rather sore.
Sea dogs and skippers hold on to your hats.
There's a tidal wave coming and that's about that!
Watching the whale a rumbling and grumbling,
"Below decks the captain said"
The vessels rocked and rolled,
Tossed on the swell,
Good gracious me,
What a terrible smell.
The sea subsided,
The whale felt better,
The crew came on deck.
No need to get wetter.
The sea dogs all shivered as they looked at their boat.
The paint was all stripped off from the juices as noted.
Needed repainting saved them a job.
Gastric juice of the whale had finished the task.
Sick whales are most useful at times,
Especially in one of my little rhymes.
Jan 2017 · 278
Olivia Kent Jan 2017
The lights flick out worldwide.
Factory of building fear.
El presidente is fearsome.
Adversary to normal folk.
The duck man is coming.
No joke.
My boots are quaking more than me.
Deep inhalation.
Crying freedom.
Begging and squealing.
Like many more than three little pigs.
The house that's white is filled with fright.
God help us.
Time to start praying.
Jan 2017 · 368
Olivia Kent Jan 2017
Not sympathy,
Not dull.
Not scary.
The love dove beating her wings.
In her beak only beautiful things.
Not lilies, nor nettles.
Poppies thrown overland as memorial of battles from the lands before.
We are peaceful of perfect heart.
We love our world so dressed with art and creativity.
Let our planet live and breathe.
She is glorious,
Sustainable life.
We love the world,
The world and her wife.
The reference to the world and her wife relates to the moon.
Jan 2017 · 663
Olivia Kent Jan 2017
The red.
Something a little like a shiny squirrel.
Once the colour was precious.
An irksome rodent pest.
Is faded.
Still buzzing.
A loose look at the changing colour of my hair.
Inspired by Matt Chamberlain
Jan 2017 · 508
Olivia Kent Jan 2017
Bird flirting with death.
In a deadly dance on the train line.
Train coming.
Woo woo,
Fly past.
And I find myself musing towards immortal fantasy.
My imagination picks up images that no man shall ever see.
Precious images won't be the death of me, nor the tiny little bird,
Dicing with death on the line that's electric.
He'll live to see another day,
Jan 2017 · 291
Olivia Kent Jan 2017
Tuesday morning.
Sounds of New Orleans.
Cafe bars are rocking.
Velvety buzzing jazz.
Diana sings her luscious tones,
Piano sings along.
Trumpets sound.
She sports a dress of pure azure.
Matches her eyes the people say.
They're right I'm sure.
Down the street by the voodoo store.
The lights are low
Burning incense.
Image immense.
A magic feline creeps out of the alley.
Been scavenging.
Smelly old fish.
No airs and graces.
Not even a dish.
Further down the alleyway,
a carcass of chicken laid bare.
Ripped to bits by townsfolk who care.
The wishbone hangs in there,
All out for dreaming,
Wishing and kissing.
Young folk and tinkers all up for a share.
A musical cort├Ęge.
Passing transport for a one who once was there.
Victim of life.
Heading underground right now.
They're off to the old town crypt.
Exit stage left.
Jan 2017 · 306
Olivia Kent Jan 2017
Lost in a whirlwind.
That's beating the eyes.
The falling of old leaves.
A mere disguise.
At the end of the twiglets, buds of green curl.
Waiting to unfurl.
Proof in the mind's eye that true love is coming.
A love of life.
Magic of spring break.
Last year is happily dead.
Momentous change.
Around the invisible corner doth wait.
For sure.
In all certainty.
All hands be raised that tomorrow may be great.
Jan 2017 · 255
Olivia Kent Jan 2017
Exhale as hard as you can.
A chill as it nips at your fingers, toes and nose.
Smell the freshness of winter.
Feel the vicious kiss of cold on lips that chap and crack.
Be grateful.
Christmas is over,
We survived the year just left.
Cry tears for all who have departed.
Now stop.
Love they who have just started.
Leave no stone unturned.
No lesson unlearned.
No choice.
Together a world voice.
Dec 2016 · 288
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
We're tired they said.
Before fumbling and stumbling blindly into bed.
The warren ceased it's burrowing's.
Comedienne, bade the world goodbye, before she took her leave.
Princess Leia's bleeding heart was wiped upon her sleeve.
George Micheal, crept unexpectedly into his duvet covered bed.
Covered his head and drifted into eternal slumber.
How many more complete the number. After all 2016, must bear the number of the beast.
Maybe, just maybe the Grim Reaper's had his final feast,
For this year anyway.
Dec 2016 · 515
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Surreal was the tone of the sky on Christmas night.
Navy and cloudless.
And the rain fell.
Lightly, drops of daggered ice.
Falling sharply.
Wet hair.
Not heavy.
Fresh as freedom came.
Spirits danced on air this Christmas night.
All was silent.
No cars.
No twenty four hour take aways.
The animals were hushed.
So silent.
And sleep came to me so easily,
Today I applaud Monday morning.
With it's morning glow and unaffected sky.
For today,
I live and breathe.
So quietly.
Dec 2016 · 307
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Sitting on the railway station
Uncertain of my destination.
Bags all packed ready to go.
The trains all cancelled due to snow.
Christmas hours are catching up.
All stressed out and seeing red.
This morning trains are all disrupted.
The signals are all misconstrued.
Even the signal man is being rude.
People queuing on the station still.
Waiting for their Christmas fill.
Bags are loaded.
Cash be spent
Often lent or borrowed.
Happy faces,
Super smiles.
Early morning.
Late night.
Christmas spirit.
Burning bright.
Dec 2016 · 639
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
There is a little hedgehog.
He's curled up in my nice snug bed.
His prickly spikes are scratching my face.
His fleas invade my pit.
Although my dog, she finds him irksome,
She does nothing about it.
She wouldn't dare.
It's only down to my good taste, all three of us can share.
I called my hedgehog a he.
Do you know what, I don't know if it's a he or she.
It's just a prickly pal.
I have no intention of checking the bits that matter.
Anyway, I don't really have a hedgehog in my bed.
If I did I'd need someone to come examine my head.
I do however have a silly sense of humour.
Dec 2016 · 474
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Playing scrabble crazily,
I'm running out of words,
The flowers are all hiding,
Except of course the holly.
The children are all buzzing, like bumblebees on speed
Father Christmas counting cash to beat his little angels needs.
Mother always worries about how to count her money,
The bumblebees on speed just spilled all the honey.
"**** it", says mother the bank notes are all sticky,
Blooming mother, into crime has got to launder money.
It's very cold outside.
Those darned notes will never dry.
The children will not settle down,
and there's still a week to go.
They're looking at the green grass,
they're wishing it would snow.
I the poet doesn't want it too,
Makes my soggy feet all blue.
I guess it's back to Scrabble.
That was a bit of fun.
Mental exercise for a moment,
over and done.
Dec 2016 · 1.7k
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Standing by the soup kitchen,
Wrapped up in freezing cold.
Not very old in numbers,
but feeling rather old.
The townsfolk snub him,
They ignore his missus.
His fingers sparkle blue and red,
No magic lurks within.
His blanket's rather itchy.
the people passing by,
are either numb or ******.
get a job, they shout for sport.
their coffee cup, their only support.
It beggars belief that the poor souls get grief.
There for the grace of God go I.
(c) Livvi
Dec 2016 · 317
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Welcome to Aleppo
The land of hell on earth.
Where children take their first breath
And pass on date of birth.
Families proud who long for strength in sorrowful defiance.
Beaten back by mortal coils.
They rise, they fall.
They sail on in ignorance of what each new day may hold.
Still they toil.
Strive to survive.
Try not to fail miserably
From day to day.
As children play.
In piles of dust where strength of what was shelter, incredibly be bust.
The time is now to save their souls,
Live long enough to reach their goals.
Their stars are burning out.
Dec 2016 · 312
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Paper wishes give
Carols Christmas ring allowed
Red tinsel hanging.
Dec 2016 · 286
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Christmas carols make me cry.
The tears flow.
I wonder why.
The spirit lifts my sentiments,
Arise my soul.
Of gold and frankincense,
Scented myrrh.
I do concur,
That Christmas makes the world bright.
Dec 2016 · 254
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Snow fall elves cover
Jingling bells clanging hardly
Santa feat image
Dec 2016 · 209
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Love loaded boxes
feeling filled floral ribbons
child smile ocean wide
Dec 2016 · 467
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
There's a hole in my roof, I know not what to do.
My lamplight is fading, I've worn out my shoes.
Life's at a junction, a crossroads maybe.
From myself,
I must let go,
someone must help save me,
Time to be set free.
Dark alleyways and corners all dragging me in,
First sleep is chasing me and I can't give in.
My pretty eyes shut.
I start the night's battle,
As soon they shut, my how the brain rattles.
I'm stuck on a fence at the top of the world.
Each day another ****** nightmare unfurls.
Like a pennant carried by a chap on an apocalypse horse.
On a course out to fail.
In a yacht with no sail.
Drifting off course and nothing could be worse
I'm alive and I'm well, but this is sheer hell.
In need of support, but feel like it's sport.
I am a fox, please find me a hole!
Dec 2016 · 900
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Healthy pond lives wild
thriving bumblebees living stung
silently dying
Dec 2016 · 568
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Flying reindeer slays
birds crash into holly bush
red man bearing gifts.
Dec 2016 · 250
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Seaweed dressing up
rocks styled classy tide drifting
memories of beach.
Dec 2016 · 699
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
He would've jumped through hoops for her.
And Friday's come around again.
Loved her ever always, has no clue he hath her squashed.
She once was that blessed kiss on his lips, that tug on his wrist, the pull on his hips.
Now they're just ships that pass in the night.
Initial emotions
Locked out of sight.
He was the breeze in her hair.
So unfair, that he shattered her dreams,
All left behind, in the drama of a broken mirror , after all they hath no care, mirrors care not for what they view.
Not you or him nor him or you.
And the band plays on in ignorance.
Still the people dance.
All so unfair.
Dec 2016 · 241
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
I'm in love with romance.
Put your arms around my waist and darling lets dance.
Let's whirl as swans
Cob and pen,
Eye contact.
Silken touch
Supportive crutch.
Let our lips tickle and ripple.
Fight against the bitterness of the cold outside.
Sunday morning sky, a shade of ochre above the frost, the frost that's charged with many slips.
Dec 2016 · 240
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Water boatman, frozen pond.
Crystal letters,
Magic wand.
Dec 2016 · 202
Olivia Kent Dec 2016
Glowing snow lay weeping branch
Winter bird,cold feet.
Next page