Cows are where you’ll find me first, Then I’m served up on a dine. A cut of meat that sounds quite sweet, With a tender taste to enjoy to feast

I turn your pond a shade of green, a creeping film that spreads unseen.

Sleeping Beauty pricked her finger, now I grow and linger. Upwards the tower I go, blossoming and blooming until a hundred years later, there comes her beau.

A sticky tar sap. Needled skirt up to cap. Boarded in bulk. Shape hung: travels map.

Winter's fingers creeping down to tap, tap, tap at the walls, the windows from the eaves of your roof. In the cold night, they can certainly look intimidating, but not so much during the day. The sun makes them so nervous, they break into a cold sweat!