Tis the jolly, holly season

when the leaves fall brown

and children’s conker filled hands

hide in their pockets,

while many watch the decaying colours

brighten the landscape.


While stacked stocks of stifling

carbons wait their turn

to saturate the air and

of  smooth the seasons out-


Til,    no frost and mist,

no multi coloured woodlands,

no dying back of flowers,

no need for scarves and gloves-



the temperature tips

and flowers flourish still,

butterflies dance in the garden

amidst the humming bees and

the strawberry patch with red fruit

fallen tell us boldly, that

the warming is worsening.


Nature is confused and birds

wonder at begetting again,

those sleepy ones who hide, 

stray around

and yet the nightmare of a drought,

driving heat is in our land.


People march,’ Its an emergency,’

they cry, looking at the barred door

of boffins, and some think

to silence is a 




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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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