Stolen Minutes

Is any food as good as when it's made by someone else?
What pleasure and what leisure, regardless of expense.

But, better still, the sandwich filled by lovely company,

and woe betide the child who tries to interrupt this treat.

They're yet to savour all the flavours of these stolen minutes,

their meals comply with what they like, they do not do the dishes;

no appreciation for preparation, and that's right for their ages,

but let me have a little chat, and a sandwich I didn't make.

Time Capsule

The rabbits eat the bellis while the cat sleeps snug inside,

I patrol by dusk and upturn pots to tasty flowers hide.

Just one night missed will well undo all my careful work,

but then again the worst result is that the rabbits will be stuffed.

It's not hard to walk the garden on sunset primrose guard: 

I live in a charmed, geographically armed

place of certain peace;

a world away from The Ukraine and Russia's senseless siege.

I've thought a lot about that box, our message going ahead,

of how we'll say we're happy, and the wild rabbits are well fed.

Of our hopes for all the people on our census, from Ukraine,

and our thoughts for those who they have lost, all the missing names.