No more wild roses climb among the vines,
Their blooms have fallen, swell the rosy hips,
And grapes, still green, hang where the shy deer slips.
Dusky black the sloes, dogwood and elder bright,
The hawthorn berries glow with russet light,
The hedge prepares for winter’s bleak, cold night.
I walk among the pools of golden sun
And wish this peaceful river never run.
Assembling the Jigsaw of a Febrile Imagination
Navigare con attenzione, il Blog si sbriciola facilmente
Inspiration, History, Imagination
Extraordinary Tales of Nature
Diary of a Dublin Housewife
Poems from the Celtic fringes
Stay Bloody Poetic
i think therefore i write
Books and new writing
Never back down 🔱⚔️
Ein OIKOS[TM]-Projekt gegen Antisemitismus, Rassismus, Extremismus und Fremdenfeindlichkeit.
Mad woman from mediocrity, muses.
Writer & Photographer
Canadian Zen Haiku canadien ISSN 1705-4508
Ramblings of an Irish ecologist and gardener
Poetry of a changing Earth. The grief is real--so is the hope.
Inspiring others through the written word, fictional blurbs & documenting my writing process from scratch.
occasional musings of an itinerant seanchaí polishing his craft online
The Things That Are In My Head.
offbeat words for you...
Just writing what's on my mind
AS HUMILDES OPINIÕES DE UMA MULHER DE CORAGEM QUE DIZ SIM À VIDA!
a place to chat
My journey through photography
Inspiration and Spirituality **Award Free**
≈ fictionalpaper / piccoloscissors / creativeglue ≈
Philosophy is all about being curious, asking basic questions. And it can be fun!
Jane Dougherty Writes 
Such lovely language, Jane.
Thank you 🙂 I was in iambic pentametre mood.
🙂
The world is always changing, and we can see both yesterday and tomorrow in today. Yes, lovely. (K)
It’s a continuum, and we ride with it as long as we can.