Saw I A Bird

Saw I A Bird

Saw I a bird on Isle of Mann.

I left a little paper slip

and made she little nest of it

to protect her kin from Boreas.


And mousey climbed up in the tree,

a little beastie from the field

she left her den and baby squealed;

she heads back toward the gelid land.


Comes fox with fluffy blanket tail

and tries finds she the paper trail

to nest in snow here, Isle of Mann,

before the cold wind comes.


Saw I a bird on Isle of Mann,

awaiting for the moony tan

that comes when little feathers swoon,

for she will find the springtime soon.


Sonnet on January

Sonnet on January

Bejeweled with snowflakes fresh as heaven’s eye

to herald in the coming of the earth

comes candidly the month ever so shy

to offer neoteric swells of mirth.

Pulchritudinous with frosted firs

and saturnine with ice and bitter rain,

the perihelion does much to stir

a sleeping, frigid earth from chilled disdain.

Bright flurries blanket cobblestone and roof,

whilst open hearths soothe tender, algid hands;

slim icicles cling everywhere, aloof:

how wondrous is the new, enchanted land!

Delight says I to winter’s whitened whims

as January jubilates herein!



When I am dead, it will not matter, please;

so make a smorgasbord of wine and cheese.

Don’t forget the sourdough and rye

for when they say their final, slow goodbye.

Although whilst I’m alive hear me to say

that good I find it putting wine away.

But keep the smorgasbord of cheese and bread,

for that I’ll gladly eat before I’m dead.