Silent, grey,
Memories call,
Bodies decay,
Spirits enthral.

Forest of stones,
Soldiers *****,
Markers of bones
Command respect.

Here, a soul,
In shadow, hides,
Tries to console
Young widow-bride.

There, a spirit,
of little merit,
dallies in grit,
whit to inherit.

Sobbing, a child
Kneels by her father,
Lips that once smiled
Buried before her.

Love-blind groom
Aches for his partner
Asleep in her tomb,
Asleep to his ardour.

Sighing tears,
Wind and rain,
Love and fear
Entwine the twain.

And gravel and grass
Watch from afar
as death and life dance
with bid, 'au revoir'.

"Who are you?
I know you not,"
Said little Daisy
To Forget-me-not.

"He has no tongue,
Speak not to him,"
Yawned young Lupin,
***** and prim.

"And who be you
To interfere?"
From overhang basket
Squeaked Lamb's Ear.

"Quiet now,
I'm trying to sleep,"
Said holier-than-thou
Peony Bo Peep.

And all was quiet
In yon flower-bed,
Save sweet little robin
Singing overhead.

January. Cold, wintry and bleak.
Cat killed a pigeon, talon and beak.

February.  Tree waking from sleep.
Found a few slugs under wood-heap.

March. Silky catkins and a hint of leaf.
Blackbird warns of a magpie thief.

April. Blossoms-pink, yellow and white.
Radishes growing ready to bite.

May. Greens and purples, a haze of colour.
Spring a-beckoning to Mother Summer.

June. World is abuzz with sound of living,
Bees and butterflies, taking and giving.

July. My, it's hot! Cherries galore.
Fox chestnut-brown scraped at my door.

August. Clear skies, velvety blue,
Saw buzzards chasing red-kite as it flew.

September. The ending of sweet summer-harvest,
Judging whose potatoes turned out the largest.

October. Runner-beans bid adieu.
Stone squirrel 'lone on grey patio.

November. Tree losing last leaf of autumn,
Golden mulch carpets, browns and aurum.

December. Bare branch, bowed 'n buried.
Snow gave a shiver, 'n winked as he tarried.

Sanguine fluids course my veins,
Neurons, synapses, excite my brains,
Nectar of life in unfolding leaves,
Verdant runner-beans ascending weaves,
Roses deep purple with aromas sweet,
Lupins and lettuces, begonias 'n beet,
The sound of blackbirds in morning chorus,
The light of the sun in breaking auras,
The patter of rain quenching the deep,
Herds of cattle, flocks of black sheep,
Stretching wings soaring the skies,
Laughter and smiles, frowns and cries,
Wind and hail, sunshine and breeze,
Love is the essence of all these.

As my legs brushed the bulrush,
As my hairs bristled fibres,
Long and slender brushed they by me,
As I traversed the golden whiteness,
As I crunched the golden snow,
Glistening, shining, in the spring sun,
As the maiden in her bride-gown,
As the delicate, trailing mayflower,
Sparkling white on the prairie,
Vellum soft 'neath scribe's beard,
Flowing like the ocean river,
Speckled grey as starlight clusters,
As the feathers of the starlings,
As the grey of children starving,
There he stoked the strokes of blackness,
Stroking, drawing, marking, scribing,
Drawing dells of deepest darkness,
Marking summits of sweet sharpness,
'Midst the valleys of butter-yellow,
Midst the velvet, whispering whiteness,
Midst the plains of swaying wheat-corn,
Coursed those rivers of ink-black starkness,
Dark as the midnight in icy winter,
Dark as the secrets of youngest maiden,
Dark as the cravings of inner madness,
Black as the heart of yellow sunflowers,
Black as the eyes of hater's glower,
I, the housefly, witnessed these secrets,
With my eyes composed of myriads,
With my senses known to no-one,
With my tender tip-toe foot-pads,
As I tread the path of no-man,
As I licked those tender fibres,
As I dallied 'neath the scriber,
As I fled my pad of scribes,
As I circled the ocean tides.