Birdsong in the Early Morning

The early morning sun reaches down
And touches the few leaves that stay
It shines as if it doesn’t know us at all
Then a small bird sings clearly
Far away in the morning hush
And I know you hear it too

Whether or not anyone else hears
Doesn’t matter.  We hear.
We are here.  It sounds our hopes
Our dreams.  Such as they can be.
Invisible to others, real to us
We wait the birdsong to begin again

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Listening to the waves

seventh wave

I sometimes seek a strange detachment

A pretence that I never knew you

Then the sea pounds through me

A racing pulse, sounding the

Deep scales of the breakers

Then you are there once more

The waves even dream the future

I realise that I miss you so

That I really fear to keep you

Flooding my heart all the time

But, of course, I then recall

The seascape is a source of joy

Where I can see your face before me

Smiling with those impish eyes

And know that pretence was in vain

All My Own Words?

You can’t be faint hearted and wear your heart on your sleeve
So come what may, though I may have seen better days
Knowing in my heart of hearts that love is blind
I shall not fear the green eyed monster, for goodness’ sake
For the world is my oyster, a brave new world
Not a Fool’s Paradise, but a foregone conclusion
The long and the short of it, though I may have passed
My salad days, and it’s no more cakes & ale for me
What’s done is done, fair play, I have my hearts content
A dish fit for the gods, for ever and a day
As merry as the day is long, pure as the driven snow
With heart of gold, so no more wild goose chase for me
I’ll not sleep one wink, with bated breath, and fancy free
Even at the turning of the tide, the truth will out,
A sea change will lead us to our primrose path,
Under the greenwood tree, to sleep, perchance to dream
Such stuff as dreams are made on, as good luck would have it
Dear girl, the game is up!  A rose by any other name would smell as sweet
In case you get up in arms, I’m not responsible for the Italics here.  Though they may make your hair stand on end,( a sorry sight), don’t be in a pickle, or vanish into thin air, my night owl.  They’re Shakespeare’s fault!
They might be too much of a good thing, but the naked truth is I thought as a piece of work they’d break the ice, but what’s done is done, woe is me, the course of true love never did run smooth……………………………