we sit quietly here, fretting

over nothing in particular.



some bemoan their lot,

others get on with it willingly.



stop and have a cup of tea.



while others walk in #ice and mud,

while others #drown,

while others #starve.



without a #cup of tea.

spring is on its way,

the ants are in the kitchen.



they will leave by easter

whenever that is. he said

it should be on the same day



each year; he is learned,

pronounced as two bits.



it is nice to see them back

this year. see the snowdrops

too.

so we placed the work on censorship.



little boats,  welsh not, #bandaged

books and what nots.



they had been there

some time, yet were not noticed

i guess.



it may have been nose bleed that done

it. she censored it all, shoved in

a drawer, even the refugees

crossing.



i go to the ship now, and

i hear she threw the jazz band out



too.

partially due to the weather,

state of the roads.



these are not just closed

due to snow, some

as cars slide, cause a commotion.



it is a steep hill, the crimea,

some call it a mountain



steeped in history.



plans change, while

the bus windows remain *****.

shelter here under this door?



no i do not mind the rain,

though it is all mud over there,

and may slide.





where do you walk?



to the end, and back again.



thank you.

there is nothing quite like changing stuff,

you see he always came on tuesday, but then

we started writing that day, so he will come

on thursday each month.

to help me.

it was a mucky day, cold with driving rain, he did

what he could until we both hid in the kitchen,

eating cake, and mending plates.

there are unusual things here.



not really, it is just how you

see them, i think you have

nice things. antiquities, yet



you are used to seeing those

daily.



i like the way you finger them,

play, they will turn up another

day.



you see.



the lead soldiers are still standing,

lined up on the back of the

monopoly board.



the front small bedroom.