Pancakes

Pancakes

Hold on a minute, wait a sec,
Is it Tuesday? Tuesday. Check!
We need some eggs and milk and flour,
We’ll have pancakes in half an hour.
A recipe is what we need,
Come on Google, yes indeed.
Find one suitable for me,
Look, there’s one on the BBC.
Mix it pour it in the pan.
Can I flip it? Yes, I can!
Lemon juice and honey spread,
Sugar crunch, maybe, instead.
They were there, right on the plate,
If you’d like a taste, well, you’re too late.

Winter Birds

Sitting, through the window gazing,
Festive fare before us spread.
Your joie de vivre is so amazing,
Share with us our daily bread.

Christmas lights show their reflection.
You, the cold, wild winds must bear.
Forcing on me introspection,
For nought would I your wild life share.

Birds in Winter

The First Snow

Hen Pheasant

Have pity on the Pheasant,
Sitting in the snow.
Life isn’t very pleasant,
When you’ve no place to go.

She’s stuck, with no umbrella,
On cold and bitter moors.
No nice hot coffee seller,
In the Great Outdoors.

Peck and Collect

Nuts

Our restaurant has been relocated,
And outdoor seating arranged.
If this is what you’ve awaited,
Please visit and see what we’ve changed.

While we can’t manage kerbside delivery,
We hope this is what you expect.
If the weather turns out to be shivery,
You can always do peck and collect.

The Road

The road goes on

Whence comes the road?
It winds through all our travelling.
From our beginning,
Our life unravelling.

Whence goes the road?
Up and on, curving and bending.
From where we stand,
To our life’s ending.

Rememberance

At the going down of the sun

At the going down of the sun, we will remember.
Those who died, both friend and foe.
Who fan the flames of freedoms ember,
With dying valour’s glow.

Those who lie in foreign fields to never more return.
Those who wait, hope overdue.
Those whose fate we’ll never learn.
We do remember you.

All on a Hallow’s Eve

Blue Moon

Hey diddle diddle, the moon is blue.
Riddle-me riddle-me-reeve.
What on earth is a cow to do?
All on a Hallow’s Eve.

The little dog giggled as bones danced by.
Rattle-me clatter-me-cleve.
A witch rode her broom across the sky.
All on a Hallow’s Eve.

The pumpkin face sang a raucous song.
Caterwaul flatter-wail-fleeve.
Ghosts gathered around to sing along.
All on a Hallow’s Eve.

Pass the Time

A friendly fungus

Today I paused beneath the trees,
To muse upon philosophies.
Walking the dog gives you the time,
To ponder on the reason’s rhyme

Lost deep within my reverie,
I thought that someone spoke to me.
Midst grassy bank two lips I saw,
But had they moved? I wasn’t sure.

‘I’ve seen you pass this way of late
And watched you walk and cogitate.
If you have time I’d like to find
Just what it is that’s on your mind.’

We spoke at length, Grass Bank and I
Of mostly what, and sometimes why?
At last, I bid to him, ‘Good day!’
Then turned and went upon my way.

Ivy Flower

Ivy Flower

Little bee a-buzzing mid the Ivy blooms.
Gather sweetness now as Winter looms.
Other blossom’s nectar all is spent.
I watch and wonder just where Summer went.

I hardly noticed Summer tiptoe past.
Long sunny days all slipped away so fast.
Now Autumn’s here and Ivy bears its flower.
Silent Winter watches from his icy tower.

Butterfly

Flutter on the windowpane,
You seek the sun, but all in vain.
Did you need a place to hide,
Is that why you came inside?

Window fixed and just ajar.
Locked, it will not open far.
Careful hands ‘round you, I cup.
Gently, gently lift you up.

As I left the house I saw,
In the sun near my front door.
Dancing wings brushed by my cheek,
Then off, to nectar’s blossom seek.

Oh. No. An Acorn!

An Acorn lying on the ground

What are you doing here on the ground?
You should be up in your leafy bower.
Were you told to get out and go somewhere else,
For taking too long in the shower?

Don’t talk to me about autumn and such,
It’s too soon to discuss that yet.
Get back in your tree and don’t come down,
’til summer’s been back to pay off its debt.

Back-end

Sheep

When thistledown clouds the air,
Autumn won’t have long to wait.
Dandelions have lost their hair,
Left with a stem and a bald pate.
When at last September’s here,
You’ll know this is back-end o’ year.

Days get short and nights close in,
The sun no longer climbs so high.
Flocks of rooks make such a din.
Bracken leaves turn gold and die.
Then you’ll know September’s here,
And now this is back-end o’ year.