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
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.