Renaissance,I Think Of you

I love you like a stream
Flows restless to the sea
See you like the mist
Touches clouds, touches me

See you in the stars
Where ever you may be
I think of you
Think of you

If ever you're near
And have some time to spend
I love you every way
Love you like a friend

And then when you leave
A whisper in my mind
I think of you
Think of you

When I see a bird
Fly over to the sea
And the sun in the sky
Is shining warm and free

And when I feel the wind
Blow cool over me
I think of you
Think of you

Sheep in a boat, Temple House, Sligo, Ireland

Geography Now! Germany

it is at least a bit...funny ..

Styx , Boat On The River

Crosby, Stills & Nash ,You Don't Have To Cry

Mayo's Wild Atlantic Way

Frankie Boyle,The Guardian, on Donald Trump

Now when i was reading this today i don't know how often i giggled and
how often my mouth just stood open, speechless-

read it:

Frankie Boyle, The Guardian


"You look into Trump’s eyes and you see the fear and confusion of a man who has just been told he’s got stage-four cervical cancer. He is a super-villain in a world without heroes, a man so obnoxious and unhappy that karma may see him reincarnated as himself. You kind of wish he’d get therapy, but at this stage it’s like hiring a window cleaner for a burning building. It’s still difficult to classify him exactly: he’s not a classic Nazi, but would burn books if his supporters knew how to read."

......

"I’m equally baffled that so much Democratic criticism focuses on his incompetence and instability. Competent, focused Nazis are absolutely the worst kind."

Donald Trump: a man so obnoxious that karma may see him reincarnated as himself, Frankie Boyle The Guuardian

THE STRANGLERS ,ALWAYS THE SUN

it is always the cat

they say it is
always the gardener
or Bush or Trump-
it is always my cat

sly and lurking
near the fire
on lush carpets
or under the table

as cunning
and as bad as me,
as you, in the corners
where nobody sees

the spiderwebs,
the cat, me:
for the cleaners
all rooms are round.

it is always the cat
it stretches its paw
and rips the hoover
open, dust allover

and nobody,
nobody at all
will know the truth:
the cat doesn't care.

the maligner, in the
comfort of hiding,
he will not be caught:
Trump, well, is not a cat,

neither talented with
grace nor with silence
and never as wise
as my cat, he will

be eaten by mice,
choke on his lies,
be strangled by courts
and burst like a bubble

or so i hope.
it is always the cat
who wins the game,
i am wisdom's servant

but  i only feed my lord,
the cat, who smiles
mischievously when
i think it is free will.