| The Poet's Gallery |
| Out in the quiet warm night, Lovely moon shining so bright, Comes a tiger in the bush, Crouching low for the ambush. By the river a fawn appears, Drinking slowly forgetting its fears, Up leaps the tiger fiercely, To fill his hungry belly. |
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| THE HUNTING TIGER |
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| THE INVADING CROW |
| Glossy black wings shinning in flight, In my eye, I see here and there, the flying crow, Flapping, flapping, squawking in the sunlight, So rarely do I now see the little swallow or sparrow. Once there were many birds of brown and colour, Oh, where are the birds of colour and song? Now I see only the black scavenging hunter, Oh, just where have we gone wrong? We build cities of tall dumb stony beauty, We cut burn and slash away forests upon forests of trees, Then we look around and come to know feebly, That by our hands, we did commit this great folly. |
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| THE YOYO A-laughing and a-laughing I go, A-rolling and a-rolling it falls, Then up and up comes the yoyo, Then in mid-air it stalls, Staying still a while on the airflow, Then away it dives into the walls. |
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| Background musical composition "The Town of Witchwoode" for this webpage is by Bjorn Lynne. Click graphic below to visit his website. |
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