The azzure hills

I love it when clouds appear as hills
Of tufts of grey amidst winter's chill,
Dullset underneath azzure skies.

The frosted sun casts a misty shadow
Over slopes melting under watercoloured glow
As the rising dew obscures milky light.

My love at once had felt such thrill
But met a heart shivering still.
Alas those clouds descended into night.

What choice do we have?

Does the butterfly choose where a gust takes the wing,
While the buzzard buffers the thermal wind?

The owl swoops in moonlight but does he decide
How silver the glint or the rush of the tide?

The pit viper patiently waits for the shrew,
Though is this a will for the prey passing through?

Do we know how we've made the choices we have?
Maybe that's kind, maybe I'm glad.

Maybe the mind, entangled with time,
Can accept what we have and the choices we've had.

Perplexed

Perpetually perplexed but never apoplectic,
Sometimes she smiles, the smile is septic.
Through ups and downs she often frowns
But my brow's much fonder of laughing.

Recalcitrance

A pillock is a pillock but sometimes the rays
Of the the sunny forecast smother the truth.
It's hard to see through the soggy, misty mire
But eventually, you see, the pillock shines through.