While roses have called it a year,
My strawberry’s full of good cheer.
Its fruit, bright and red,
Defying winter’s tread,
A rebel that laughs at the drear.
While roses have called it a year,
My strawberry’s full of good cheer.
Its fruit, bright and red,
Defying winter’s tread,
A rebel that laughs at the drear.
I opened a box with delight,
Though Christmas was nowhere in sight.
It’s only November,
But I can’t remember
a rule that says waiting is right.
The thermostat clicked and turned on:
the chill in the hallway was gone.
Though the bills made me groan,
I can’t chill to the bone!
So comfort will have to live on.
I bled all the radiators clean,
(An annual ritual scene).
A geyser of brown,
Spurted up and around:
Now my carpet’s not quite as pristine.
A rocket shot up through with light,
Exploding in colours so bright.
The crowd gave a cheer,
As sparks danced near,
To celebrate Guy Fawkes Night
A Catherine Wheel spun with such flair,
It hissed as it whirled through the air.
It fizzled and popped,
Then suddenly stopped:
And smoked like it just didn’t care.
I’ve a hobby that’s somewhat exotic,
Amassing a collection that’s quixotic:
Each stamp that I lick,
In my book I do stick,
It’s a pleasure that’s philatelic!
November drifts in with a sigh,
While leaves do their dance and then die.
The bonfires gleam,
Like sparks in a dream,
As winter gives autumn a try.
The mornings grow misty and chill,
The evenings drift softly and still.
The firelight glows,
As autumn bestows
Its quiet, enchanting goodwill.
A leaf took a leap from a tree,
with delight: “At last, I am free!”
It twirled with delight,
In gold autumn light,
Joining in the wind’s symphony.