Poetry

Coyly

In the garden's dappled glade, She stirs her favourite cup of tea— Averted eyes, yet unafraid To let her amusement faintly show. A lift of lashes, swift and light, Like moth-wing against summer

Cinch

A soft leather band that hugs the horse’s side, Holding the saddle firm where reins and hope collide, It tightens with a gentle pull, a quiet grip, Turning restless nerves to steady, sure‑footed

Power

Power wears a quiet colour, like the mist over the moor, It settles in the hush of dawn, a strength that softly pours. Not in the thunder of the engine’s roar or

Liver

In the quiet hush beneath the ribs, A dark‑red organ hums its steady song— The liver, Britain’s stoic chemist, Filters life’s broth with patient, tireless grace. It holds the amber tide of

Night

Midnight drapes its sable veil O’er sleeping town and whispering hill, Stars alight like silver flakes Upon the velvet dome of night. The world hushes in cool repose, Dream‑weavers wander ‘neath the moon, While

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