LUCKY, LUCKY, LUCKY!

Our lives are devastation with inflation running wild.
(She's grinding food for animals to feed her starving child).
We may not have a Sunday roast, whatever shall we do?
(Her baby's close to death tonight, he may not make it through).
It's possible subscription to the gym may have to go.
(The rains have failed again this year, the crops will never grow).
The children need some trainers and they'll only have the best!
(Her baby dies while cuddled to his mother's empty breast).
We've pared back to essentials, there is no way we can save.
(With tear soaked eyes a mother lays her baby in his grave).

DANCING WITH ROSES

The path beckoned her,
to weave among the scented colour,
where bees hummed on nectar quest
and insects climbed to lofty leaves
in green delight.

The sun warmed her,
with solar rays of gentle heat,
from azure sky where swallows soar
on delta wings and larksong rings
in meadow air.

The peace soothed her,
in nature's world of simple truth,
confusion slipped from muddled thought
and hid from tired and worried mind
behind a smile.

The world found her,
it offered safety's gloomy cloak,
to wear 'neath medication's rule
and asked how passed the recent hours. . .
she told them. . .

"I was dancing with the roses."