Poetry

Faint

A hush of mist, a soft‑lit sigh, Faint footfalls on the dewy glade, Where amber light and shadows play, A whisper brushing leaf and blade. It is the colour of a doubt, A

Lithe

Lithe as willow boughs that sway, Graceful limbs in twilight play, Silken motion, soft and low, A ripple through the evening’s glow. Nimble as a cat’s swift tread, Footsteps light where shadows spread, Each

Brute

In the hush of dawn, a brute awakes, Muscles coiled like spring‑tight rope, His breath a low, relentless rumble— Earth trembles where his footsteps gape. He roams the moor, a savage grace, Eyes

Meter

In the quiet workshop of the world we trace, A silver thread called metre, straight and true— It measures gardens, streets, and outer space, Binding the vast to the familiar hue. Yet

Skiff

In the quiet harbour’s amber glow, A slender skiff drifts, slow and low, Its wooden hull a whispered tale, Of tide‑kissed journeys and the gull’s soft wail. Oars dip in rhythm, silver‑bright, Cutting

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