....
I walk down the bay it is full of red roses and fine lilies. The feeling, like a quaint cottage of peace picking sunshine with ease. A hamlet of happiness, a place you find strength gushing through like the home of bees.

The joy the heart beats gently to. This beautiful sights and mellifluous sounds of the lovely water birds, i can't, but admire. Right here one builds words the shape of the pyramids and meanings as old as the heavens. But not until I wake from this image that tricks the mortal me. This castles in the air.

I sit capturing every wave, every sounds, every passing thing I had seen on a piece of paper and the memories of nature running through my mind.

With regrets of what this world could be, I wish for more but for posterity I write- for the love of nature and for the joy of poetry. May these words give strength, I say and may the sun never die to my feet for I have seen love.

And so dear reader nature may be God.. Just maybe, we may never know. What do we know? We keep telling ourselves how well we do, yet it hurts us every passing day for we do not want to try the little things to safe earth.

Nature could hand us a hand of friendship, we could never tell, for we do not want to see, our vision happily blurred. How much it calls every passing day, silently crying through our eyes and ears. Through our nose and skin. Through the air, the sea. through day, through night. Wake up, wake up, the world is falling apart. Pick me up and clean me for you need me in this journey of time. Yes You need me like a baby needs a mother's tender love and care.

But to us what a fiction, to God what a pity.

Donald

girls always dreamt of their prince charming in their fairy tales
that they would be the knight in shining armour ready to save the day
that they would be the ones to fight off the evil villain
the villain that says bad things to make all hate them

but how can we girls identify which is which
if the villain is the one that says all the right things?

Here in the midst of lake and fell
where lake-land poets once did dwell,
penned their words in romantic style
I too will sit and dream a while.

Sat at the edge of mountain tarn
looking back over field and farm,
watching Merlin and Goshawks fly
on thermal winds high in the sky.

The scent of pine from forest deep
red squirrels search for nuts to keep,
native to this Cumbrian land
to watch them scurry, really grand.

So tranquil here midst lake and fell
where reds and poets do still dwell,
the only sound is natures song
this is the place that I belong.