September

The billowing clouds of August have gone away

Tumble bumbling against the azure into the indigo distance

Misting curtains drift through the fading coppice

Flocks of faraway birds' spiral,

Spin dipping every which way gathering in chaos searching for the sun

On the edge of the high green hill cattle patiently graze

Recent Posts

Rosalind Tomorrow, tomorrow, always tomorrow Tomorrow is waiting long, gilding our window pane Losing the night upon the fringe of...

Penny, tuppence, shilling shining down the stairs and out Frank James and all that ail there and then across the town Thomas the library...

The Turquoise Tie It was sweet back then with Radio Luxembourg under the blanket When our songs were all at sea stolen by Pirate Radio...