Rainbows

Rainbows hold myths, And enormous powers Within our thoughts! How we often wonder why? When we see them in sky,   Rarely would we pass one by Without a glance. Everyone gets to gaze, To wonder with amaze. How their colours bond, With their band of seven, Constructing their massive Arch, So beautiful to see. Where does it start, Where does it

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Desculpe, parece, (sorry seems to…)

We leap and then regret.. We reverse and regret. We stand still, And lose so much. Often circling our shores, Circling our thoughts, Carefree and in rose tinted shades. Finding our course  In life is tough. Finding who we are  Is liking riding  The Helter Skelter of life, Backwards,. We see all the wrongs  We miss all the rights! Trying

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Midsummer Madness

The winds whisper As they wind through the Cypress, It’s leafs glistening,  As they deflect the light,. Illuminating the dark deep madeira.. Shadows cast to the west as the sun Reaches its height The time is now!  For all mad dogs And English men To enter the arena. They all make a show With their crab like glow. Whilst the

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Ó Iarthar Chorcaí (West Of Cork)

To the west of Cork Lies a treasure trove. A wondrous land, A collection of natures gold. Whispering trees stand tall. Along shimmering streams, Telling stories of days gone… Mountains that darken the north. Humming winds from the coast. Grass as green, The like you have never seen. Once bastion for those subject To tyranny, amidst harsh times. a y

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The Mountain Stream (Life’s Path)

Life is like a mountain stream, Quietly flowing, quietly forming. From  soft rain that falls from the clouds As they brush by. It begins in a funny place, It’s a wilderness… But amongst great beauty, With the purest of water. It bursts from the rock Like a mountain spring. The air is fresh, There’s nothing to interfere. It winds its

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Shadow From The Past

Beneath our oak Lies a shadow Of a stranger past. Only a silhouette To dictate stories, Stories of times Long gone from now. I think it’s a lady A lady who stoops. She is only there  For me, Feeding my imagination. To tell of regret. To seek forgiveness,   In my presence. For all the hurt, Just years ago. To free

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Robins In Our Garden

Such beauty in our garden, They have the reddest of chests, They pout with pride. Are they only there for those cold winter months Or are they? Where do they hide, On those long days of summer? Away in the trees? Behind all the leaves? Trying to keep cool? And then in the fall, Cover is lost! Like magic,  appearing

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