Sweet Corn
We run like rivers run ragged
Through the golden gasp waves
No thoughts of winter or the autumn fires
Mar our soft recreation
Kingfisher
If you look towards imagined lands
From cliffs high above the sea
You will pause in thought
And question your sense of migration
Far Away (Kingfisher)
You shed your colourful inhibitions
And did not seek refuge on the bank
I was a seasonal visitor gliding
Through your enchanted waters