Mike has kindly sent a  photo of my husband’s favourite harbour, not counting Whitby
I can feel myself standing there watching the boat come in… it is quite difficult with sand banks

I do not see my future, how to go
But now I have steam cleaned the kitchen floor
If I  run out of  all my china plates
I’ll eat meat off the floor till I am late.

I only see a half of what most see.
But still enjoy to swill my throat with tea.
The world is so delightful, I must smile
My grin is  wider than the Royal Mile,

We wonder about ethics and virtue
But what matters is our choice and choose we do.
The new doormat’s good,  for it is bright
My little bay tree  loves the air and light

When the dirt is vanquished for a time
I sit down with a pen and start to write.
Dirt’s a symbol  of  our human sin
Yet without it,  plants have nothing to grow in

So dirt and dust, creative elements
Are only bad when  they create a stench
I found some fruit that rotted in its bag
The odour was, in its way, very bad.

At first, I could not locate the odour’s source
I wondered if it came from my parts “coarse”
But no I’ve never smelled as  bad
As bananas stuck inside a plastic bag

And do it is when we wear manmade cloth
The heat of polyester  brings out wrath
For  sweat or moisture can’t evaporate
We swelter like  a vine of purple grapes.