“The flowers are popping up, must be spring?” Gun Roswell
Little white things
Sprung out with spring
Before the bell could ring
Never knowing
The joy they could bring
Red for spring
“It’s official! Spring is beginning!” Gun Roswell
Tulips, gently swaying, in the warm spring sun
Their colour of the brightest red, indicating fun
Counting down from a multitude to one
Spring time is here: everyone has won!
Tree Tops Green
“It’s spring time now!” Gun Roswell
Where blue and green meet
In a rhythmic windy beat
Where spring’s growth is incomplete
And the weather still in a loss of heat
Just take a seat
Admire the treat
The dance of the trees
In this seasonal breeze
Yellow Things
“It’s yellow so it must be pretty” Gun Roswell
Great things
Always come in threes
Even if you sneeze
You will love these
Little yellow things
Brought by spring
Easter Time is upon!
It’s that time of the spring, the seasonal pairing of the eggs and things!” Gun Roswell
After all the painted eggs and faces
The little witch nervously paces
Out into the wide world
She needs to fly like a bird
Because
For now
Easter time
Is just to follow!
And the witches’ brooms
Cannot be hollow!
Eye, well, it does spy!
Back to the Future or already there?
“Movies? What are those? Sci-fi? Call it, Sci-Fa as in fact?” Gun Roswell
I was sitting in my time machine
Whistling this happy tune
Must have been quite a scene
With the bells, whistles and fumes
Setting the date into the dialer
The flux capacitor pulsating
Waiting patiently, I am the driver
Feeling the seat vibrating
The dashboard flashing
Soon I will be dashing
Through time and space
Into another time and place
Travelling in my vehicle
The outside cold as icicles
With the speed of light
In a tunnel quite bright
My destination dead ahead
The tunnel soon to shed
Feelings of anticipation
Of what destiny awaits me
In the next station
There is no Try?
“Just do it?”
This morning I woke with a huff
Thinking I had had enough
Cranky tired, uninspired
Fully setup for a fail
Checking my email
Another assignment
What an annoyment
Not an idea in my head
Wanting to go back to bed
But the little sound
Getting more and more loud
Urging me to at least give it a try
Heck, it wasn’t as I was learning to fly
So I did and finally am completed
Even though feeling completely depleted
But still respective high
Now the sun has gone to rest
And soon so will I
I wish you one and all
A good night and all my best
Tomorrow another day to tackle
But that’s another story, another haggle
The fly on the wall
“Just hanging, listening, observing, checking things out” Gun Roswell
I, am a small fly, sitting on the wall
Wall, which from I won’t totally fall
Fall, would be a terrible thing
Thing, as if I would be killed
Killed, to the very death!
I am but a fly on this wall
Wall, observing everything
Everything, and nothing
Nothing, as today’s such a bore
Bore, because I have no sugar!
Ah, sugar, the essence of life
Life, this tiny little fly’s treat
Treat, as in a sugary snack
Snack, as without it I would slack
Slack, well, yes, you know, lazy!
I basically don’t do much
Much, as humans consider such
Such, is the life of a fly
Fly, but now, I really have to fly
So, bye bye!
Flying high?
“Ever high up, in a soft huff and slow kind of a puff “ Gun Roswell
Rising high, above the clouds
An exceptional ride I’ve chosen no doubt
A big balloon, fuelled with hot air
Someone else might run away in scare
A hot air balloon, this transport it is called
For without the fire and air, the lift off would have stalled
A giant blob of a ball piercing the tall skies
And in a tiniest of baskets, the passengers are huddled together
Knowing, their life is hanging by very narrow tethers
It’s all cool an fun when you look from below
But rising over the rooftops and clouds above
The perspective changes into a worry of a fall
Soon enough, you’re starting to huff and puff
Looking for a landing spot
From where everything looks like a dot
Finally starting to descend
Thank the deities that, all ended well
Rantings Of A Third Kind 
