The sky is now pale lilac edged with dark
The trees where small birds sleep are almost black
A mystic may enjoy a vivid spark
Through having senses other mortals lack.

The sky’s more pale than it is darker grey
I see a pink, a blue in clarity
Now it turns as rapid as dismay
Until devoid of such variety.

And darker still ,in grey it edges down
Until it’s less distinct from those large trees.
But with my words to keep me from a frown
Darkness comes and so my words must cease.

A mirror to the outer world in verse
May save us all from wintering with a curse

I wish I were in Lancashire again

Pendle Hill the pike of Rivington

The mountains of North Wales , the Cheshire plain

I will never climb, my legs are gone,

Dear home, the cobbled Street my skipping rope.

The end wall of the house my mother’s face.

The tree she planted and her helpless hope

The love ,the feeling sad, the lost embrace..

I wish I were in junior school once

more

The powdered ink,, the brass the desks of oak

Children’s laughter to the sky can soar,

Skipping fast and how our arms would a àche

I wish I were a child and has no cares

I miss the. Freedom, bonfire night the War