I hope to awake on an open field
Where children play on swings,
Watching people walk their dogs,
And all those kind of things.
I hope to see yellow daffodils
In their thousands all in line,
Followed along with bluebells,
A blue sky and sun that shines.
I hope to see those people
The ones I used to know,
Instead of sadness in their eyes
Now is a smile that always glows.
I hope to see those animals,
Cows, pigs and sheep
Grazing together without any fear
Knowing they're not food to eat.
I hope to see a different world
A world that we've never seen
One with peace and harmony
The way it should have been.
I hope to awake on an open field
And I hope that day will be
With all those lovely people,
And my true love waiting for me.

O Spring season of love for every plant and beast, from early March till later May the charming guest would feast.

In mother nature you’ll see the signs of all Divine designs. You will see the beauty on every face including yours and mine.

Daffodils will sway in open fields and lands that have declined. Flowers shall blossom and roses will bloom on every stem and spine.

Stallions will tease and gallop away in single pairs and lines. Even the birds their mates would mock before they do combine.

You’ll spot the fish of every hue in every pond or lake, but monkeys would scream and run away from every coily snake.

The crocks would stretch on river banks in search of warmth and shine, even  the bears will lazily rest under the shady pine.

lovebirds will flirt and build a nest on every woken tree, music would play and bells would ring in all the lands and sea.

When young are born or even hatch they’ll match the colours of spring, parents would feed and nurse away as the young will proudly sing.

Summer is loading full
             just one bit more
                     London is On!

Busy bus only 20 miles
           per hour
      tube  it
take the underground!

Meet down the various clouds
               though the sun oft
     picks on the gray paintbrush
the bumble bees fly on bright path
       daffodils are yellow
                   eyes are black and white.

The colour plate is full
                     down the cloud
                          go by underground!

Sometimes I feel as though
writing poetry
is like throwing scraps at the dogs.
Have I satisfied my mind's hunger to write?
Not until
I can say
that I've written
with pride.
For the only way to be full
is to be brave enough
to swallow
my own
words.