'Why do you run?' I asked the river,
'So fast I can't compete.'
'I run,' the river said, 'because
I have some streams to meet.'

In our flat
faces speak
of places across the sea.

In our flat
voices walk in
talking, but not like me.

Spring is baby,
bright, fresh and new,
gurgling with the melting snow,
singing with the first cuckoo.

Thomas Farynor, Baker to the King,
Left his oven burning with the firewood nearby.
The embers muttered, the little flames took wing

Hello! thanks for calling
I'm just off on my bike
That's my room up there
Take a look if you like.

Aren’t you cold and won’t you freeze,
With branches bare, you winter trees?
You’ve thrown away your summer shift,
Your autumn gold has come adrift.