The Wordle
SUNDAY WHIRL
asks us to use all the wordle words
MAGIC MIST
When I watch geology 'stuff',
It all seems rather crude and rough.
Volcanoes spurting violent flames
And crashing planets with Latin names.
I like to pretend this earth of ours,
With all its rivulets and flowers,
Developed out of a gentle mist
With the help of a genial alchemist.
I like to think of a tender touch
With sprinkled juices and other such
Harbingers of joy and calm,
And nothing bringing pain or harm.
The alchemist's craft would sweep away
All things unpleasant; they would not stay.
With his acumen he'd gauge our needs,
Planting only flowers, never weeds.
He'd massage the world with scented oil;
There'd be no such things as pain and toil.
We would be supple, and know no pain;
There'd be no such thing as acid rain.
But, sadly, I'm told by geologists,
There were no such things as magic mists;
We evolved from flame and slime,
Bang and crash for aeons of time.
Brute force, loud noises, heat and cold,
Nothing pleasant, so I'm told.
But I still prefer my alchemist
To the no-holds-barred geologist!
*
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COMPARISONS ARE ODIOUS!
Call that a crest, Old Codger!
That white thing on your head!
If I had that
Silly looking hat
I'd really rather be dead!
Now this is a crest, Old Codger,
This glorious yellow thing,
That points and furls
And crisps and curls
And makes me look like a king!
With a natural glory, Old Codger,
You cannot ever compete!
I'm feeling bolder
On your shoulder!
Quick! Gimme something to eat!
*
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PS
Our friend, Angus, had his 70th birthday today and we were privileged to be invited to his party. We met-up with his five grandchildren, none of whom we'd seen for some time. Julie and Susan organised the feast. Here are some photos of the occasion.
