Poems

If the bones could speak,

they would talk of Mr. Meek.

A man who takes pride in his work.

A devious soul who in the shadows does lurk.

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There are so many things I could be doing with my hours,

But I can hear the bees whispering to the flowers.

I could fix that thing that’s been bugging me for days,

But there’s a squirrel up there enthralling me with its playful ways.

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While stumbling across Dartmoor one day I happened upon a quarry,

I sat down to eat my lunch but was interrupted by a man called Donny.

I’m sorry to bother you, Donny said, but I’ve lost my Impy,

It’s a bothersome creature and really quite wimpy.

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Mother nature spoke on a whispered wind,

A story so sad of her children who have sinned.

I gave them everything, so she said,

Life of wonder and the glorious heavens above each head.

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She said she loved him, and gave a kiss to show,

But another had felt those warm lips, which he did know.

Old mother Jane looked out with a tear in her eye,

Remembering her life with Simon of years gone by.

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I’m a Troll who lives under a tree

Deep in the forest, just where I like to be.

I’m not a Troll who causes grief on the web

Just a harmless wee creature who likes his bed.

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Deep into a forest I did go

To be among life only the trees did know.

I sat on the bank of a gentle stream

Happy to let my mind wander and begin to dream.

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It was a simple country house; a peaceful, secluded home

A family nest of brick and stone.

The age for this domicile I’m sure was high

For it was around to see horse and cart drive by.

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