Poetry

Whiny

Whiny whispers drift through the afternoon, A plaintive sigh that lingers in the air— Each complaint a soft, persistent tune, That drags the sunshine into sullen glare. It slides across the kitchen

Louse

On the scalp’s soft hidden plain, A tiny louse creeps, thin and plain— A speck of life in nit‑filled hair, Its six‑legged march beyond compare. It feeds on blood, a quiet bite, Leaving

Speak

When the dawn breaks soft upon the quiet street, A single word can stir the hush beneath the feet. To speak is to unfurl a ribbon of bright sound, That weaves through crowded

Stung

Stung by the sudden sting of a summer bee, I reel beneath the amber sky’s soft gleam. The world, once calm, now hums with frantic glee, Each pulse a tiny, throbbing, crimson dream.

Sally

Sally steps upon the cobblestones, Her coat a soft, muted grey, Each footfall echoing gentle tones, As morning light begins to play. She hums a tune the wind hath stole, A lilting refrain

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