The trees cry – a poem

Watching the water drops Trickle from treetops, Each one a tear of sorrow. Bare branches forlorn In the grey of the morn, As they wait for a better tomorrow. Even flowering colour Has never looked duller, In sunless cloud choked skies. It’s a pitiful scene Not a springtime dream, No wonder the trees do cry.

February morning – a poem

The mist lies low, Bare trees crow, Ominous through the grey veil. Sunlight refuted, Colours muted, Deep in the stony skied dale, Yet the birds still sing A joyful song of spring And spirits are lifted but slight Til a breeze busies through Then glimpses of blue And hearts are then filled with delight

Another Autumn morning- a poem

The sun is shrouded in a cloak of mist And the ground is damp from dews sweet kiss, Trees wear crowns of bronze and gold, Another Autumn morning begins to unfold.

Autumns Mystery – a poem

Autumn mornings, Golden glow, Through bronzing leaves The quiet mists flow, And magic holds In the crisp, cool air Where natures secrets Have come to bare.

Early Morning walk – a poem

I wander this lonely trail, In the depths of winter deep As the dark still clings to nighttime And golden rays of beauty peep, The icy puddles shining, In the light of emerging day, Like crystal shard reflections Guiding me on my way, The frosted plants look ghostly, Pale and skeletal in form, Eerie in