He sat all alone at home in his small cottage which nestled at the edge of the woods, close by the stream that flowed from the hills and which gently refreshed the air all around as it spilled over a small cascading waterfall. The trees and shrubs in the woods, of course, were also a safe home to many of the creatures of the daytime (and the night) that were ever such a comfort to him for he loved to see and listen to them busily getting on with their day. Some of them were shy souls and so, therefore, they timidly buried themselves away when they sensed that man walked among them....
Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie.
'tis here that I met you on a pleasing summer morn Where blossoms of the cherry, out on the bough, adorn; Underneath the cherry tree euphoria welled soon, I met you in the morning and I loved you by the noon.
You were more the things to me that I should ever know And there beneath the cherry tree, below the scented show, We watched the sun rise in the sky and felt our hearts entwine And all the world was lost to me just as your eyes kissed mine. ...
Who is this muse afore me stood? I know her not, I say. A temperate stirring of the blood, I bid her go away. Her seducing, warm, pacific smile, The shining in her eye; I watch her handsome form a while Afore her I deny.
I took, once more, a further glance Affirming what I thought. A glowing, flowing, countenance Upon mine eyes here brought. I bid her go, a second time, Yet, still, she must remain Sparkling in the morning rime Be gone, I say again.
The memories are warm in the eye of the storm I remember the days long ago. And the raindrops fall wet as the tears of regret Dance through the air to and fro... And the nighttime grows cold when the daytime grows old.
The colours and shades of the penny arcades Flash through my mind on a whim. And the mantra lives on, though the music is gone, For the furore of then tends to dim. And the nighttime grows cold when the daytime grows old.
Was I ever so young when my springtime had sprung? Was I ever so short in...
As the dawn broke above the moorlands of Yorkshire, in the English countryside, all was still. I was up and about, although a little earlier than my usual time, as the day began to stir. Not far away the hoot of an owl let me know that there was a trespasser in her territory. I looked up and sure enough, as my eyes adjusted to the morning half-light, high in the sky a sparrow hawk patrolled the heavens above me. Like the owl, yet in her own different and special way, she was magnificent.
Memories of long ago flooded my thoughts as I watched her in flight. When I was a small boy,...
The oak and rowan slumber still Reposing in their frosted bed; Holding off the shivered chill Dormant, docile, all but dead. Skeletons drab against the blue Leafless limbs up-reaching high, Clothed in sleeves of frozen dew Below them hidden secrets lie.
On the ground the snowdrops burst Early risers of the year Contending to be blooming first A fleetly winter's end is near. Premature, the sunlight's rays, Icy stalactites eroding, Tumbling down a spectral haze With leafy newborn buds exploding.
He lives within his Toytown house And stays, contented, there; Happy, silent as a mouse Dozed in his tortile chair. Ready and alert is he, Uncertain what's in store, Thinking next who it may be Comes knocking at his door.
Will someone call to visit soon? Will someone come to play? Will someone tease and hum a tune Upon this very day? All alone he'll sit and mope The smile washed from his face; Sadly, tearful in the hope Some antic should take place.