Spring comes in all its glory

the budding Trees

so full of Blossoms

the Crocus, Snowdrops

Daffodils and Tulips

Lilac so perfumed

and all the other

cheerful little souls

that makes one happy and joyous

and alive


Then Summer hits

and all its sun

the Roses, Peonies

and so much more

to sit and look at

to work to perfect


the long long Summers


But the heat goes down and one looks around

the plants are leaving us

and soon the leaves

will start to drop

Autumn with its colours

Autumn with its chills

and soon we dread the Winter

for more reasons than we think


Blink and Winter has hit hard

with rain and wind

and thunder and lightening

and Garden plants all dead

and fencing falling down

the Trees are lifeless

and it all looks awful

within and without


Once there was promise

there was hope

there was future

not now

the World is awful

Young Men can not be Men

Young Women dictate

what men should be

SAD oh so SAD


Men and face creams

men and eye products

and hairsprays

and God knows what else

one cannot speak one’s mind

say one wrong word and there are those

waiting to pounce “racist racist” they chant


There is no more intelligent talk out in the World

only “did you know so and so on tv slept with so and so on tv”

the young and even older fill their heads with crap

from tv or magazines

God help us all

“What was the last book you read” one asks

“you what” comes back


Some choose not to work

Benefits is more than enough for them

if the vicious little terrorist sympathizers

have their way

they will hound down

those who earn too much

the Rich will leave, Companies will move out

and as before

what will they achieve, “Nothing”



To hell with “PC”

speak up be honest

tell the truth

the Worlds a mess

the Country’s a mess

to become an even bigger mess


Like the Garden thats dead

one feels worn out

enough is enough

I turn to my Son at 6. 30am

and ask “will you cope when I’m gone”

“I don’t know” comes the answer

I love my Sons

some say I have done too much for them

but I’m proud not to be

just their Mother but their “Friend”

I look forward to the end

those that are gone are far better off

I do not like this World anymore

people have become too stupid

there is no more strength out there

perhaps my time is drawing near

dear God I am worn out










Tchaikovsky  –  Waltz of the Flowers




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