- Thoughts -

Honeybee's live in hive's,

from the honeypot's we eat.

Policemen always on the beat,

tired and heavy must be their feet.

Strawberry jam come's in jar's,

some more exotic from afar.

fire's burning, log's a' glowing, 

Snow falling from the icy air a blowing.

Footprint's and handprint's in the sand,

Children playing in a band.

Rain pouring from the sky,

always make's the people sigh.

Autumn leave's a falling, 

I think I have a' calling, 

to end this poem, and say Goodbye.

Joy Sharp.