The light is attracting them.
They buzz and splutter in a chorus,
About my head.
They bounce of the darkened ceiling.
Morris left the door open all afternoon.
They were attracted by the kitchen smells,
Of fresh bread baking,
And Bowen's scones.
I had to rescue the cream before it was blown.
I should not complain too much.
They are a harbinger of the warm pleasant days to come.
They are blowies.
No comments:
Post a Comment