See how the stream does smoothly flow
Silently passing beneath branches that grow
Upon the steep banks that slant to sky
Seeking warm rays, so they can survive.

These leafy arms shade the muted stream
As it weaves its path in constant theme
Through dappled light its forms entrance
Leading the insects in merry dance.

A mossy cloak, worn by each tree
On northern parts that face the lea
And upon this moist and shaded side
The moss the cooler air imbibes.

A refreshing wind picks up and blows
Through the leaves and swaying boughs
Those rhythmic sounds add atmosphere
As the sun in evening, disappears.

The daytime kisses the night goodbye
And leaves us with a dusky sigh
While pungent aromas of mother earth
Rise to the sight of the universe.

There cannot be, a better place than this
Where one can enjoy eternal bliss
Than to stroll beneath the riverside trees
With contented mind… is heaven indeed!

bird

What dreariness meets the weary eye,
As November discreetly descends,
Its watered sun, drags across the sky,
Trying its best, to make amends.

Naked trees, seem to stand in sadness,
Stark, abandoned, by their dying leaves,
Autumn’s colours, lie drab and lifeless,
Their golden flames… just distant dreams.

The slanting rain, gloomily falling,
Behind its curtain, the sun forlorn,
Miserable birds, cold, not calling,
Silently shiver, through the dreadful morn.

A misty dampness, bleak and clinging,
Across the landscape, silently steals,
This cloak of misery, unforgiving,
Embraces the forests, hills and fields.

Come you winter! with your cape of snow,
Your icy frosts and sparkling rays,
Forsake this dreadful month…let go!
Release us, from these sombre days.

I found a little song bird
lying wounded on the ground
I picked him up and held him close
listening for a sound.

His tiny eyes they opened
such haunted eyes were they,
a tear it spilled so softly
and then I heard him say.

I used to love a lovely girl
but my love it was in vain
for her I'd fly to the end of time
and all the way back again.

but she was taken from me
by one who cannot sing
her love she gives him freely
our past means not a thing.

So if you see this lovely girl
there's a thing I'd like to know
how come she shot the nightingale
then married a ******* crow!

*Bird