And the day drizzled into a storm,
one that rolled gently over the valley
Enveloping the streets below "The Hill"
making heavy breaths, moving slow.

Water, water everywhere...
More than enough to choke me,
too little to float a boat, swim in
or cleanse the soul of the city.

The river runs ice-free this year
no break-up and flooding,
"Canal walk" striding past
Blue Crocus and Pussy-willows

Their bikes stormed past
the church lane, down
to the end of the road
where the gravel thins off
into nothingness
but dandelions, clover,
and Queen Anne's Lace.

The five boys wrestled their bikes
into a tight huddle, faces flushed from
riding so darn fast, and so darn hard,
hearts pounding inside their youthful chests -
still innocent,
still fragile.

Although the night was cold
And the rain poured down
The crafty old fox, still felt bold.
He put up with the weather
Because he thought he was clever.
So, he conjured up a plan –
Living nearby was a horse called Gift.
The fox kept his eye, on the horse for a while
Whilst licking his lips – he was hungry, they were dry.
The horse was as fit as a fiddle
Because of the grass he ate - healthy greens.
The fox with white socks and red fur
Could also eat grass but meat he preferred

Last year I visited a hallowed place
I had been there twice before,
This place that reflects and honors;
A memorial no one should ignore.

Our nation's mall is the location
In the shadows of heroes past,
Tons of granite whisper quietly,
Our heroes names forever last.

Fifty eight thousand names are there
Etched for all the world to touch and see,
The names and dates of when they fell,
An epitaph of love, for all eternity.