"Go forth, little one." I said as I reached my hand up-towards the heavens. A single **** escapes my unclasped hands towards the sky, and then beyond. Soaring tactfully on the cool breeze.
"You're free at last." And at that very moment, the last of my ***** were given.

*Fin

I smell it cooking,
The sweet spices greet my nose,
I'd love to eat you!!!

*~Marian~

I am playing this game!
The score, not in my favor!
Time is ticking,
But not fast enough.

=^.^=                                                            ­      * A
                                                       ­         A    thousand and one chances;
                                               A         thousand and one chances;
                                         thousand     and       one
                           A thousand and        one    chances;                                
                A thousand and    one      chances;    
      A thousand and one chances;
              and      one
              one    chances;­                                                                 ­                                           
          chances;          *                                   ­         
                                                       ­          **To be who you really are.

Steam escapes the surface
Of infant mince pies.
It spirals upwards, dancing
Into the winter haze
Where headlights, opaquely visible,
Fight the fog.

The mist flurries atop the frozen pond,
Over brittle leaves, half caught.
The deer nuzzles in frosty thickets,
Searching the winter veil
For stray nut.

‘neath the tap my hands endure
The bitter cold of winter’s water;
But happily I return to my window,
And cast a gaze once more on winter Britain.
The fire leaves a smoky essence,
A homely smell.
December come.