In the whispers of my love
In the flapping wings of a dove
In the *** of a child
In the untamed wild
In the lion's roar
In the swinging swords in war
In the scream of the fear
In the laugh of our dear
In the falling drops of rain
In the cry of someone in pain
In the dancing chimes
In the songs and rhymes
In the flow of the breeze
In the dancing leaves of trees
In the light of sun and moon
In the sigh and heartfelt swoon
In the chipping of the birds
In the rhymes waiting to be heard
In the heart and its beat
In the blazing fire's heat
In the lightning's thunder
In everything I wonder
To the earth music belong
Even in the silence, I hear a song
In everywhere I hear the magic
In everywhere I feel the music

If your chances
look slim,
get fat
simple
as
that.

(20 minute poetry)

I write hymns in the breath that hangs in the air,
Winter
chills spill in and the cold's everywhere.

December plays havoc with the good and the brave and saves the best for the weather of which I'm a slave.

But I'm wrapped up, trapped in a thermal skin and I suppose that these clothes keep the chill at bay,
leastways I don't feel the touch of Jack Frost.

And the hymns become anthems of ice, stalactites or 'mites depending on your view.
and blue, they've got to be blue, it's the cold you see, you do see do you?

In this carriage which is just a marriage of conveyance, I never meet the eyes of the strangers that lurk by the doors, I mind the gaps, mind the spores that they're issuing, tissues and noses,
one supposes it's the cold,
they really ought to wear thermals.