Poetry

Bacon

Bacon – a rasher of sunrise, Sizzling gently in the pan, Each strip a golden whisper of flavour, Crisp at the edges, tender within. It drifts on the air like a familiar

Globe

Upon the silent sphere of earth we trace, A blue‑green marble turning slow in space, Where oceans whisper secrets old and deep, And mountains guard the dreams that valleys keep. From bustling streets of

Chain

Chain In the dim morning light, a chain of mist Crawls over cobbled lanes, a silvery list Of moments linked, each link a breath, a sigh— A tethered tale that wanders, never shy.

Shift

Shift In the quiet hush of dawn, the world begins to turn, A gentle shift of light that paints the sky in amber gold. Leaves, once still, now whisper as a breeze decides

Woman

She walks like dawn across the cobbled lane, Her laughter soft as rain upon the pane, Eyes hold the quiet strength of ancient oak, A steady pulse that none can ever broke.

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