Poetry

Snout

Snout of the wandering boar, Soft as velvet, warm and keen, Rooting deep where earth is raw, Uncovering secrets never seen. In every muddy trench and dell, It sniffs the world with curious

Shall

Shall we wander where the mist clings low, through lanes of hawthorn where the blackbirds sing? Shall we trace the river’s silver glow, and let the dawn’s soft light our spirits bring?

Purge

Purge In the cold light of morning, the house sighs— rooms stripped of the clutter that clung like old regret. Each drawer opened, a silent confession, papers yellowed, photographs faded, the weight of

Slosh

Slosh in the kettle’s steam‑kissed throat, A golden brew that sways and wobbles, Each ripple a quiet laugh, As the liquid leans left then right, Tea‑stained ripples kiss the china’s rim, A hesitant

Their

Their hands, once dusted with summer’s earth, Now trace the quiet edges of memory’s hearth, Where laughter lingers in the amber light Of tea‑stained mugs and soft, forgiving night. Their voices, a

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