Witchling dreamt and firstly bore
On pourus rock conceived...

Inset spire to megalith
Check in...

The pain I feel isn’t hurting
This endless blue can’t be real...

A pilgrimage to summers ley
When should we find them fair and fey...

Underneath the silver birch
That stands where two roads cross...

Rather cloudy in the northwest, elsewhere mostly...
The reality of the death of expendable income...

This is a great world of love
Of streams, of flowers of skies above...

A lone tree once grew on a cliff
In a time of great fire...

Eyes up to the Man, the Flag and God
Clutching the national plant...

As a gentleman you’ll tip your hat to me
Whilst slowly popping off my fingernails...

The walk
The crowd...

Bathing in the alluring grace
Of the radiant summer sun...