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Archive for March, 2019

Home Thoughts From the Crocalog

The Crocolog Again

The Crocolog and Friends

The Crocalog, he travelled far
He saw things just the way they are.
But, always in his peregrinations
He sought for farther destinations

In thoughts of what he’d left behind
A face not place came to his mind.
He sought strange sights his time to fill
And hoped he could forget, but still. . .

Then, he ceased his self-delusion,
Saw through all his past confusion,
Home’s not the place where the beck bends,
Home is the place you left your friends.

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Awake Spring Awake

Hawthorn Leaves

Hawthorn Leaves

Come on. Wake up! The alarm has buzzed.
The hour hand has passed the equinox.
Look in the clean underwear drawer,
And find some pretty pants and socks.

Up, Spring. Get up! Winter’s old bones ache,
His snowy cloak is tattered and torn,
He’s done what he came for and now he’s just
standing around looking all forlorn.

Here’s your green dress — quick, put it on
This is no time for you to start flapping.
Cherry blossom for your hair. Let’s go!
Before they all start slow clapping.

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It Might Be

Honesty

Honesty

It’s beginning to look as though we might have made it through the winter. Winter is always tough. The light is bad to non-existent – even on a sunny day, the sun is so low in the sky that it illuminates very little. We are left with pictures of the sky, pictures of dark objects that might be something interesting or if all else fails, an occasional picture of a train.

But the wake-up clarion call blazon’d abroad by the recent warm mini-spell has shaken the flora and fauna out of their winter doldrums. They are up and running around – putting out flowers, growing leaves, beguiling and enticing members of the opposite sex and bellowing their territorial ambitions at the top of their lungs at unearthly hours of the morning. The weather has retaliated in no uncertain terms. It has grumpily regressed to its immature years and retreated to the safety of howling gales and the comfort of snow/sleet/rain in any random combination. There isn’t much we can do, except try to be supportive and understanding.

The positive aspect of all this is found in little warm and sheltered nooks. That’s where we caught sight of the Honesty featured in today’s picture – tucked under the sunny side of a thick hedge.

You know what? It might even be Spring.

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The Return Of The Crocalog

The Crocalog Returns

The Crocalog Returns

The Crocalog you may recall
His lie in wait began to pall.
He thought of all Life Lessons teaches
Of waters blue and golden beaches
Or even swamps with fishy pong
That he could lie in all day long.

Off he set and gave no mind
To those that he would leave behind.
Responsibilities he’d shirk,
No thought he gave to his life’s work
That his career would go to pot
He plainly didn’t give a jot.

But, home is home when far away,
Our traveller found out one day.
He hankered for his soggy beck,
His life to salvage from the wreck.
He’s turned, retraced, o’er hill and foam
Each weary step and now he’s home.

For further information See:- The Crocalog – He Couldn’t Wait – The Dreadful Duckalumps

 

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Almost Spring

Dunnock - in the hedge

Dunnock – in the hedge

For a moment Spring was here.
For a moment my song was clear.
For a moment joy danced around.
For a moment new hope was found.

But now I, silent, sit and mourn.
Spring’s promise into scraps is torn.
Where the sun so warm and bright,
From early dawn ’till sunset’s night?

Gone away and left behind,
Dank laden airs, all so unkind.
How can I sing my song of love,
While stifling mists press down above?

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