Drizzle-drenched decaying day murky dawn to washed-out grey … … deep darkness pleases: contrasting lights now dazzle … … – drizzle, mizzle seems to disappear — invisible, rubbed out by black.
Sing a song of old coins, a pocket full of change – ten times four and twenty old pence (look so strange) but when the bank was open they gave me in...
Buying tins from off the shelf, I realise that it’s not myself who raised the beans, and cooked, preserved – so, many farmers have deserved my thanks...
No Robin rubbin’, feathers ruffling … Like a face-book page it may get trite, artificial, trivial, and sounding over-bright, how much to say? should keep it brief, and remember some recipients may be struggling with grief