Month: December 2019

Like scurvy riddled souls that we are, Without fruit in our labour, We wallow in a way which is shallow, Unmelodramatic and time passing,  A gentler pursuit you shall not find, Relax because labour that is dig the hole, Is like fill it in again, Can be…
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Say, I do that last Christmas is a song once sung also not so long ago, This year has flown, as does the barn owl from across the field in moonlight glinting upon wing, Talon’s ready to pick the mouse running with cheese in mouth from, House with yellow glow from…
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