I'll be honest, I didn't have a form in mind when I wrote today's poem. I just wrote a few lines while sitting in the garden and, looking at them later, saw that some had final words which rhymed, so I wrote a few more lines to match and... voila, rhyming couplets. It's not a great poem, just observations from my small corner of the world. I didn't leave the house today, but being lucky enough to have a garden, I spent hours in the fresh air and sunshine.
Breeze, 18 Degrees
The elderly feline catching a languorous bee, letting it trek across the back of her paw,
The field over the stream occupied by sheep that bleat and the donkey with his haw,
The sock, peeled from pale toes, sighing into the uneven grass,
The neighbour across the way, whose blue words, coarse tongue, betray their social class,
The new fence panel, installed after winter storms, rattling,
The endless pool of sky where seagulls are tousled on wing,
The small bird box hanging up, unvisited by the blue tit,
The neighbours spraying weeds rather than smoking it,
The intermittent radio chatter as you dip in and out of the garden,
The boy from next door, lost his ball, begging pardon,
The hot, dry roughness of towels thrashing on the line,
The shed calling out scrape me, paint me, it's time