Shrivelling over time,
crippling under the world’s weight—
the ageing, the tree.
The elders
Author: N
Writer of all things, some of which are pretty good.
Morning breath
Waking blurry eyed,
though ashamed and regretful—
adult? Accepted.
Dreamworld
Scene from picture books;
eye-popping and unreal;
sometimes seems nature.
Everyone’s holey
Though they be dented,
deserving adoration,
are flowers; humans.
Warms the soul
Full bodied, complex,
as rich, well rounded Syrah—
in your face, the sun.
