Poetry

Smoke

Smoke In the hush of dawn, a thin grey veil rises from the hearth, a quiet breath of burnt pine and distant ember, curling like whispered secrets that slip through the fingers of

Beaut

In a quiet lane where lilacs sigh, A single rose unfolds its hue, Petals blushing soft as sky, A modest bloom, a gentle brew. Its fragrance drifts on evening air, A whispered promise,

Broad

Broad horizons stretch beyond the street, Where fields of green meet the amber wheat, The river sighs, a silver thread, Through valleys wide where footsteps tread. Broad smiles of strangers, warm and kind, In Britain’s

Rerun

Rerun On the flickering screen the same scene sighs, A familiar chorus in muted tones— Lines we once laughed at, now stale as old pies, Repeating the jokes that we’ve already known.

Widen

Widen the road that winds through misty hills, Where ancient oaks stand guard and whisper low, Their branches stretch like arms to greet the sky, Inviting travellers to let their worries go.

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