Poetry

Bunny

In a lane of clover, under a clear blue sky, A little bunny prances where the daffodils lie. His ears twitch like flags on a bustling street, And he hums a soft tune,

Dough

Ode to the Dough In the dim kitchen light where the oven's glow watches, I knead the humble earth‑swept mixture, a quiet tale of yeast‑made wishes. Soft and breathing, the dough curls like a sleepy cat

Plead

To Plead In the dim glow of a London street‑lamp, I stand and utter a quiet, earnest plea, A soul uncut, a heart that knows no dam‑t. The night, a silvery mirror to my

Water under the bridge

Water under the Bridge The Thames once ran wild beside the old stone arches, Its silver fingers scrabbled between the cobbles; Now river‑creek has settled into quiet, The water a soft lull, a hush

November rain

November Rain In the damp hush of a London dusk, rain drifts from the bruised clouds—soft, relentless‑as‑a‑secret. Each drop is a pale silver shard, marching southward upon the pavement’s bleak face and turning

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