PETALS





I saw it there, lying trapped in the cloying grey dust of the street,
a rich ruby red, a vestige perhaps of when two lovers did meet
and heart felt words were said.

It caught my eye, serenely nestled amongst dead leaves on the lane,
a crimson so fair, maybe lost from a gift to ease someone's pain,
simply to show they care.

How poignant it is, there beneath the names resting on cobbled stone,
the colour of blood, a floral mot mori for all those to me unknown,
lying in foreign mud.

A smile blossoms, as they flutter around and gather at the church gate,
the colours of May, dropped by a bride who was just a little bit late,
for this her special day.


NICE THINGS


It's a nice thing, to cook a meal and feed those for whom you care,
no matter how you're able, whether it's a banquet or bread you share,
gathered round a table.

On an icy day, or when the grey damp winds are blowing a storm,
you are frozen to the core, but then relish the sudden light and warm,
closing the front door.

That brief excitement, you sometimes get without having to look.
Unexpected praise, perhaps a sudden invite or finding a brilliant book,
waking up on sunny days.

Out with friends, on one of those nights when all are on a high,
nobody is down, you're laughing so much it makes you cry
cos everyone's a clown.