All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful,…
This poem was written through a still persisting, and I guess long standing, sense of frustration! Primarily motivated by the war in Ukraine, but by extension the lack of action on so many important issues going all the way back to the knowledge of all those football-fields worth of rainforest being destroyed back when I…
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