I lift, I try, I try to fly
My wings I flex to do those tricks
My mother does, my father does
But I’m still just a ball of fuzz.
I know you’re s’posed to flap a bit
To work those muscles, not just sit
But here I stay, feet on the ground
My wings I think must be unsound.
They’re stumpy, there’s no doubting it
They’ve no real feathers I admit
But maybe if I flex them lots
My wings will grow and you’ll see what’s
The outcome when I grow so tall
With feathers great and neck so long
I’ll be a fine fellow with a honking call
And you’ll look at me and be enthralled
And we won’t recall this little bit
When wings are wrong and just don’t fit
Verse and photo copyright Englepip©
They call you dog rose,
But could anything
Be more sublime
Than your five pink petals
And your yellow filaments fine?
Derogatory term for beauty
Here hiding shyly
In the shade of early June.
Dappled light of early summer
But hedges soon to festoon.
They say you will cure
A mad dog’s bite
Your juices potent in the fight
But for me your beauty
Is the simple remedy
That helps heal a heart
Pierced by inconstant love’s dart.
Poem and photo copyright Englepip©