I could write that the rapid red butterflies were still on wing bringing colour to this autumn lane.

But this is untrue

The wind is getting colder and these insects and their splendid colours have vanished without trace

It is time for a heavier coat I fear

 

You were working on my self portrait

When the paints ran dry

I have purchased some more

Please use only vermilion

 

When the boats with the grey sails pass your house

I have a desire be aboard

When aboard and sailing away I regret my departure

 

An American writer wrote of the sounds of the

Whip-Poor-Wills

I have never seen or heard this bird

But I do breed Cuckoos

 

I once knew of a pregnant mermaid

Who joined a church

When the child was born

She would often leave it with the elders

When she went fishing

 

I cannot paint these wild moors

As I have lost your amber necklace

Amber is a mysterious subject

And not easily discussed

You have always disputed this

 

When the seasons change colour

I always close my eyes

As I cannot bear loss