My lake of singsong silver
a lullaby upon my eyes
plucks the sounds
of peace
on the strings
of fickle quarters
every season
of my heaven
each a stream
tipping tears
spilling smiles
into my lake of singsong silver.

This Winter stream
of shining crackled skin
regal in near majesty
of white fur collar
and slippers of glass
aloof in silence
and respect
for all
that it can freeze.

My stream of Spring
a smile upon
it’s lips of bank
piling on it’s courage
to slip the furry coat
into a darkened cove
and penetrate
the brittle air
in pantone t-shirt
a flourishing magician
spitting spells
of hope.

A speedless Summer stream
never more than
ambles
as a hippy in a
bookshop
with a fluttering of leaves
sleeping trees
fold their branches
to rest upon the trunk
and sleep
a pregnancy of dreams.

A stream of Autumn
cryptic in it’s flirting
such a barmaid
to the drunken banks
she swells
and sinks
in teasing
the oranges and purples
drowning sorrows
with her gushing cheeks
she calls the time
last orders
of the year
and clangs her broken bell.

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