Poetry

Rhyme

Ode to Rhyme In quiet rooms where ink takes flight, We seek the favour of a matching sound, A neighbour’s whisper, soft and light, That turns a thought to hallowed ground.

Coyly

In the garden's dappled glade, She stirs her favourite cup of tea— Averted eyes, yet unafraid To let her amusement faintly show. A lift of lashes, swift and light, Like moth-wing against summer

Cinch

A soft leather band that hugs the horse’s side, Holding the saddle firm where reins and hope collide, It tightens with a gentle pull, a quiet grip, Turning restless nerves to steady, sure‑footed

Power

Power wears a quiet colour, like the mist over the moor, It settles in the hush of dawn, a strength that softly pours. Not in the thunder of the engine’s roar or

Liver

In the quiet hush beneath the ribs, A dark‑red organ hums its steady song— The liver, Britain’s stoic chemist, Filters life’s broth with patient, tireless grace. It holds the amber tide of

• The Friday Fun British Test
• Dilbert Archives