Poetry

In my youth nature was very intense,
I could then find
the smallest insect, the tiniest bird;
in my own mind,
all things were great and quite beautiful
but left behind
that world has long gone into some decay;
if in another life, another day.

Now summer is just extremely hot
some weavers a pest,
the grass far too long after the last rain,
a fallen nest
now unnoticed is trodden upon
and at its best
the year bring some new opportunities
in some assets and liabilities.