Bedtime         Hairy spider, are you there ?,         Hiding in the dark.         Or when you hear me on the stair,         Leave without a mark.         Do you watch me while I change ?,         From within your lair.         Waiting all my room to range,         Running, light as air.         When you hear the light switch clunk,         Will you quickly race.         Straight towards my nightly bunk,         To run across my face.         I Know just what you look like,         Your shape holds no suprise.         To see your gruesome outline,         I have just to close my eyes.         I Change my bedclothes quickly,         Scanning carpet round my feet.         In case your hairy body,         My unclad foot should meet.         In one fell swoop, I'm into bed,         The sheets up round my neck.         I know that if I think of you,         This long night's sleep I'll wreck.         Breath held tightly in my chest,         Heart pounds fit to burst.         Was that you, my leg caressed         Or do I fear the worst ?.         Bedclothes gripped, for sleep I beg,         My hands are now unsteady.         The hairs are prickling on my neck,         Are you in with me already?.         Why must you stalk me nightly ?,         Could you not just pass me by.         And spin your web some other place,         To catch a sleepy fly.         I've had no sleep, with fear to fight,         Here comes dawns early mist.         I've stayed awake another night,         ............         To prove you dont exist!.         David P. Bull         St. John's Fen End.

The Coot.  A True Tale.         At John's Fen End, one of the Saints,         A lovely picture, nature paints.         Tranquil waters there are found,         A place where plants and reeds abound.         A coot, alert, for days did search,         A safe place for her nest to perch.         And found among the dyke-side reeds,         A haven that sufficed her needs.         For long hot days she worked and toiled,         Gathering reeds, which she embroiled.         Among the tall stems, woven tight,         A place to rest, through long cool night.         Now she was safe, her brood to lay,         Sat she in hot sun, all the day.         And when at last she left the nest,         Our local dyke with six eggs blest!.         Shyly sat she, many days,         Protecting them from sun,s hot rays.         keeping watch for many an hour,         For preditors, who would devour.         But suddenly, one fateful morn,         A sound upon the air was borne.         A rattling, rumbling noise like thunder,         Which cut and tore the reeds asunder.         When din subsided, crept she out,         From hiding place, just close about.         Her all-protecting reeds lay flat,         Her eggs now strewn across this mat.         Stoically, the coot returned,         From years of nature, she had learned,         That come what may, through any strife,         She must endeaver to bring life.         Five more days, she sat, no sound,         The nest, now open all around.         All could see her, and her young,         Sitting in the midday sun.         The next day dawned, Oh!, what a sight,         One's heart was saddened, by her plight.         She swam forlorn, around and round,         But of her eggs, no sight was found.         Except, six empty shells asunder,         All of them, the birds did plunder.         Strewing them along the bank,         Now in the sun, all dry and rank.         Too late the season, now to start,         And once again this joy take part.         Now summer long to while away,         And wait to breed another day.         Oh!, Inland Drainage, Why must you,         Use these machines, that cut and hew.         So early in the breeding season ?,         I can see no valid reason.         Why leave these birds to fowl predation,         Are we due an inundation ?.         You say for Nature, that you care,         Then why can't you my feelings share?,             And somehow spare,                           The Birds.         David P. Bull.         St. John's Fen End.

March         Bring forth, new life upon this morn,         From death-like trance, all winter borne.         Exchange your brown earth coat for new,         And ressurrect what cold winds slew.         Now earths heart beats, and grows more  strong         Light is warmer, days more long.         Spread your arms and breath the air,         Stretch your legs where ere you care.         Drink up the wine that snow has left,         Remake the clothes of which bereft.         Entwine the vine that cold winds reaved,         With begging green arm'd hands all leaved.         Soak up the sun, spread through the soil,         Now tis your time to  swell and toil.         To show the face of natures mirth,         And spread your colours on the earth.         What is this link, to thoughtless growth,         That at this time renews us both ?.         As when you burst forth on the hills,         My once sad heart with new hope fills.         Give note, take well this gift to heart,         For like me , you will soon depart.         And when I'm part of this new growth,         Look well and fondly on us both.                   David P. Bull                   St. John's Fen End.

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