Buried treasure
Written by David C Johnson ©2019
Any pirate, thief or bandit
Will face the problem of where to hide
His booty, loot or plunder
The pirate has to moor and land it
The thief has moments to decide
The bandit sticks it six feet under

This squirrel furtive by my window
Carries a nut stripped from my tree
He pauses in the bed of herbs
Deciding where to hide it
He turns his treasure lovingly
Between his two front paws
He gazes at its perfect form
He sniffs, licks and marvels at it
As if he seeks to memorise
Its oneness from all other nuts
The paradigm he won’t forget
Wherever it is buried

This herb bed will not do
He pouches nut in swollen cheek
And scampers off to find that spot
Where treasure’s safe and always found
His squirrel’s take on Camelot
Where in the Spring, as winter fades
That nut is waiting underground
For waking squirrels such as him
Who seek their booty safe and sound

I have been counting the bees
Written by David C Johnson ©21st July 2019
I have been counting the bees
On the loveliest of trees
In our garden
This is the hoheria
That we grew from seed
Brought home from New Zealand
Its cloudburst of white blossom
Is so amazingly profuse
That even the doziest of hoverflies
And bumbles
Will find it hard to miss
And yet we are missing some
Compared to years gone by
When the tree resonated
To the hum of myriad insects
Dining on its fragrant fare