Old, leather chairs have certain unmistakable aromas. Perhaps it’s the skin of the animals they heralded from, their pastures, the farms they called home? Perhaps not. I often overthink these things. As for me, I believe they take on the scents of those who cherish them. Like love, aromas linger.
Of ruby delicacy.
Food fit for an eagle
Yet eaten by its
How you hang
A tantalising snack
Of so brief longevity.
Is your huddled beauty
Planned, I wonder,
Rubies amongst the foliage,
Or simply to keep warm?
For the short time you shine
Backlit by cerulean sky,
You bring joy to my world.
That all can afford.
That is lacking
For so many.
These isles of ours just aren’t the same
We’re losing our history and good name
For deer and eagle, grouse and dove
Are leaving us through lack of love
So much of nature wild and free
Is being replaced by conservatory
And concrete is the brand new grass
But wild birds can’t peck beak through that
Perhaps we need to stop and think
Relax and watch our wildlife drink
For these green pastures and proud past
Require our love to make steadfast
I for one wish to look and smile
At nature before it’s just a file
Or bees and larks and fox will pass
And these great isles shouldn’t stand for that
(Image courtesy Wikipedia)
Loose soil and rock displaced by time
Reveals the strength of one who spans the ages.
Below the sight of men lies your true self,
Medusa like roots your security and provider.
Mineral, water and sun your silent cravings but
Only the creaking of bowers an indication of growth.
Yet in the variegated leaves that shroud you
Stands proof of the passing seasons.
Once majestic, now a shadow of your former self,
You sit upon the precipice clinging to life.
Come torrent or hurricane you shall not relinquish,
Nor ask for sympathy from the elements.
And in me you have found an ally, my friend.
For I too cling to life, but with less to show for it.
Your character offers me the promise of hope
That what lies beneath is worth cherishing.