Thanks !
I wrote one similar style about Joan of Arc while I was ON RETREAT in NORMANDY
SOZ CAP SHIFT KEEPS STICKING
SP, you are welcome as the flowers in May
What a lovely expression. X
Sweetie made me think of you! 
Hepzibar Mary
Ribboned and gleaming
Bright coins cascading
Down by the river
Watch the birds wading.
Snares in the reeds
To catch the unwary
Silent dark sentinal
Hepzibar Mary.
Food for the pot
Nature often provides,
Acceptance of gifts
That are seldom denied.
Taking her dues
Giving thanks rarely,
The world is for living
Says Hepzibar Mary.
Rainbow bridge
Sorry will have to put up link ,it really gets to me
Thank-you Ciderz 
Awwwwwww
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge togetherâŠ
Author unknownâŠ
CHAVSPEAK
Da long time gone past
Life was not to him a blast
Badass hoodies ran the turf
Yea man it couldna get worse
Da hoodies living on da front line
Giving it loads them donât whine
Dese geezas were well tasty
Larging it eatin meat and taties
Olivas muvvers popped her clogs
Left him to the hoodie dogs
Even his farva legged yâknow
So he had bo place to go
Dere he was dumped in workhouse
Cos da knows no uvver place,
Poor nippa ennit
You could be a rapper Young Robert. X
The Whistlepoem
He cut a sappy sucker from the muckle rodden-tree,
He trimmed it, anâ he wet it, anâ he thumped it on his knee;
He never heard the teuchat when the harrow broke her eggs,
He missed the craggit heron nabbinâ puddocks in the seggs,
He forgot to hound the collie at the cattle when they strayed,
But you should hae seen the whistle that the wee herd made!
He wheepled onât at morninâ anâ he tweetled onât at nicht,
He puffed his freckled cheeks until his nose sank oot oâ sicht,
The kye were late for milkinâ when he piped them up the closs,
The kitlins got his supper syne, anâ he was beddit boss;
But he cared na doit nor docken what they did or thocht or said,
There was comfort in the whistle that the wee herd made.
For lyinâ lang oâ morninâs he had clawed the caup for weeks,
But noo he had his bonnet on afore the lave had breeks;
He was whistlinâ to the porridge that were hottârinâ on the fire,
He was whistlinâ ower the travise to the baillie in the byre;
Nae a blackbird nor a mavis, that hae pipinâ for their trade,
Was a marrow for the whistle that the wee herd made.
He played a march to battle, it camâ dirlinâ through the mist,
Till the halflinâ squared his shouâders anâ made up his mind to âlist;
He tried a spring for wooers, though he wistna what it meant,
But the kitchen-lass was lauchinâ an he thocht she maybe kent;
He got ream anâ buttered bannocks for the lovinâ lilt he played.
Wasna that a cheery whistle that the wee herd made?
He blew them rants sae lively, schottisches, reels anâ jigs,
The foalie flang his muckle legs anâ capered ower the rigs,
The grey-tailed futtârat bobbit oot to hear his ain strathspey,
The bawd camâ loupinâ through the corn to âClean Pease Straeâ;
The feet oâ ilka man anâ beast gat youkie when he played â
Hae ye ever heard oâ whistle like the wee herd made?
But the snaw it stopped the herdinâ an the winter brocht him dool,
When in spite oâ hacks anâ chilblains he was shod again for school;
He couldna sough the catechis nor pipe the rule oâ three,
He was keepit in anâ lickit when the ither loons got free;
But he aften played the truant â âtwas the only thing he played,
For the maister brunt the whistle that the wee herd made!
Charles Murray
1 Like
I posted this as an antidote to the grammar and spelling tosH on SCRIBBLES.
A new poem
I woke up this morning
To face another new day
Grimfaced, then yawning
Itâs always this way
Looking in the mirror
I see my dear father
Say, âRob I canât hear yaâ
Fleeting memories Iâd rather
Let rest in a corner
Yet life brings fine prizes
I have to warn ya
Full of surprises
(C) RJ
Why does life always go forward and not back
wouldnât it be great if we developed the knack
Of saying âsee you yesterdayâ if you did so choose
That way never a day youâd lose.
Life grinds on mercilessly every day
Thatâs because time goes only one way
Backwards AND forwards is the only solution
Going forwards will have an ending gruesome
Life goes on tirelessly every day
This is what Iâd like to say
Why does gravity pull things down always
Thereâd be more room if stuff went straight up
You could tie important stuff down in safe ways
You could easily retain just enough
Cups and saucers bowls and plates
Of course at first youâd make mistakes
The stuff would not always be very near
But youâd soon find ways to save it
floating up to the stratosphere
© RJ
How dare you call me a weed,
Iâm a pretty wild flower
With countless little seeds
For the observant to admire
I have been here for years
Though youâve just noticed me
I smile through my tears
Iâm a complete mystery
Have a good look around
On this beautiful day
Iâll name some youâve found
Come Iâll show you the way
Here are the most common of all
Flowering on fragile long stems
Why itâs madame Daisy, first at our ball
One of so many beautiful femmes
Buttercup flowers held under a chin
Reveal whether or not you like to have butter
Sheâs not fussy just what sheâs in
A flower pot will do, or even the gutter
A dandelion seed head has a little known use
When the seeds are blown off and counted
For it tells you your age, how very obtuse
Best call horse, run away, when your mounted
Are you thinking the same as me
This poem is unremitting tosh
Itâs because Iâve run out of ideas you see
What a confession to make golly gosh.
MAGIC WAND
My granddad could do anything
OF him I was quite fond
On my birthday he asked just what thing
I would like and I said a magic wand.
Oh no dear boy, youâre much too young
To have such a dangerous thing
So I had a book , not so much fun
But it set me wondering
Now 64 I can see he was wise
To turn me down for such a prize
What a dangerous thing indeed
To encourage envy, spite & greed
I learned quite early not to wish for me
Things that were not intended to be.
© Robert Junior
Thatâs a lot of poetry
Give some space to slowetry
Lifeâs all about growth
Spare some time for sloth
Folks try to inflame
Just to keep them sane
Rhyme just in your vane, or for your sake, refrain.
© to whom it may concern
Very good Robert, I enjoyed those a lot
Thank you Paul, I believe you are my biggest critic, but I thank you for taking the trouble to READ my offerings.
THANK YOU Mags, dear heart. I believe you are my biggest fan & for that reason I will continue to post my offerings.
Mags my dear
I am glad you are here
Presiding with Grace
This busy place
With the wisdom of Solomon
Trespasses you have forgotten them
I appreciate your presence