The Thinking Poet


A Bouquet of Words

Life is not a bowl of cherries,

Nor is it a rose-garden;

More like an English July

With days that go awry;

A blend of sun and squalls.

We start with such promise;

Virgin sight,

The world seen aright.

But swiftly lichen forms upon our eyes,

We prize no more the simple things in life.

A child in its innocence is wise

Seeing as it does through Godlike eyes.

Rebel mind can sometimes see the error of its ways,

And pray for a reversal.

God, in His kindness allows a rehearsal,

Grace to baptise the eyes for second-childhood and home-coming

A happy thought here,

An insight there,

A bouquet of words to offer when one dares,

Perhaps the chance to be a little wise

Before one’s demise.