Poetry is verse, crafted from your soul, and sent to someone else's
Trees; like huge gnarled creatures, march towards me through early morning mist
Sleep? I can do that with my eyes closed! (I can do it with them open!)
"I would not wish that upon my worst enemy!" - he being myself
Rest, a spot of lunch rugby, coffee ...we are in our 50's you know!
It was cold and still. I could feel the approaching raindrops on my lips
