Petals in my porridge

My morning porridge is decorated with pink petals that fall from the hawthorn. I am enthralled by the marvellous sounds of the frogs in the ditch. The willows weep on me, dripping tears in the sunshine. The loose tiles in the street clatter delightfully under my wheels. I follow the wind way and the water way, they both have lots of both. The horse is a thief and it steals my (clean) pants that hang drying on my handlebars.Read more