Burnbrae

I like to write the odd poem now and then... this was my mood at the time. Rather morose ;-) The solitary gunner stands on the hill Clutching his rifle, putrid air held still Eyes open wide, his gaze fixed with pain As he stares upon the dead on the open plain Blood stained grass and the stench of death Bodies lay strewn, dismembered. Still breath. The gunner catches sight of a movement is thought Heart pounds with hope of a life not yet caught He stumbles downhill through friend and foe So close to death but knows he must go. Dead under foot he heads onwards in fear Looking for life, he spies movement, he's near. Tommy lies blee

Gotta love the weekend! Sun is shining in January, Clear blue sky, Chance meeting with my big bro in the town, Cheeky pint of Guinness & a chat, Back home for a nice winter dinner. Same weather again tomorrow? Camera out? Lets wait and see....

Its days like today that make me thankful that the word 'tomorrow' was invented