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