The lonely man.

See the lonely man, walking through the streets, searching through the rubbish bins, will he find somthing to eat? Tattered and torn clothes, are all you will see him wear, his face dirty and unshaved, though he doesn,t seem to care. His bed he will carry, around with him all day, an old batch of papers, tonight on them he,ll lay. He will wake up in the morning, at the crack of dawn, and he,ll walk the streets again, whether sunshine,winds or storm.

Seasons of old.

The skies are blue, and the sun so bright, scorching days are long. make a summer just right, we take our long walks, in the cool of the night. And now the leaves fall, crisp to the ground, an array of colour, reds,oranges and brown, and in the flicker of flames, that we all gather round. Long cold dark nights, frost,ice and snow, heavy rains rush down, strong gusty winds blow, we wait impatiently, for frosty winter to go. Suddenly buds awaken, and gentle showers fall, with the blossoms on trees, they seem all the more tall, and so the birds arrive, bringing sunny chorus calls.

An housewives tale.

Get up in the morning, make breakfast for the kids, take them off to school, get back and make the beds. Wash the pots and pans, then put them neatly away, bring out the mop and bucket, must wash this floor today. The dust has settled thick, a cloth and polish in need, quickly vacume around, now myself ill feed. Wash the dirty laundry, and hang it out to dry, cant fit it all on the line, no matter how i try, Put the dinner on, now the windows have steamed up, give them a wipe over, ahh! tea,i think i,ll have a cup. Go and bring the kids, back home from their school, serve them up their dinner, and blow it till its cool. Now in walks the husband, and hes worked hard all day, what you made for tea, is all he finds to say. Wash the pots again, then go and run the bath, scrub the kids up clean, play and make them laugh. Take them up to bed, and kiss them a goodnight, i think i will sit down now, i know i,v earned the right.

Faces of doubt.

In the faces of many children, the sadness we may see, an unhappy life their living, yet our loves flowing free, though this they dont recieve, from their so called family. To them a normal way of life, is the abuse they come to accept, and so they do not realise, where that love inside is kept, in their cold and bitter world, these young lives already wrecked. And then taken from that life, doesn,t help them with their fears, from their innocent pure faces, still fall those salty tears, so this way they may feel. for most their childhood years. When the real love that they find, their most important dream, the security we take for granted, in their eyes now see the gleam, not until those dreams come true, will we see their faces beam.