A  widow sits on her stoney throne ,
a solitary figure she calls her home .

For  the court she keeps are of one ,
and her sorrow weeps in the cold stone walls that she has become .

For cold is the night as the snow slowly falls ,
a sniffle to  wipe as she powders her nose .

Pale her complexion as white as a stone ,
for her lips are as red as the rose that she holds.

For no one stands near for she sits there alone ,
and cold is the palace she now calls home .

So after days with one flower she sat ,
I opened her carriage ,
there alone with her cat .


A crack of the whip ,
and off we sped ,
for her to sleep under trees ,
for what she called a bed .

To watch one flower grow under the sweet springs rain ,

to remind her of the joys he brought,
her lover ,
and beloved king ,
under the pouring rain .

The sun in all its spender you awoke ,
and starlit skies ,
you’re artichoke .
Thats what I saw in you .

The moon though shadows wait and clouds may gather ,
to break and shape you’re winds of desire .

For trees will sway and and bows will break ,
but you’re heart in many days are spent ,
as pure as the driven rain that batters on the roof above my head.

But given though i dare not ask a tear from you’re eye ,
as if a wounded soul .
Ship wrecked and drifting wood ,
you cling to my mast ,
the best you could .

But you a bird of paradise,
can soothe my heart if it you’re will ,
or dash it on a stone
And so heavens angels they are calling for you now ,


you’re cage is open ,
you are free somehow ,
no longer it will be for me to bring a tear to you’re soul ,
goodbye my love ,
farewell I weep ,
to close you’re eye lids as you sleep ,
to awaken in paradise.

I sit alone staring into a world i do not know ,
or call my own .
For The pitter. patter of the rain ,
the song of the birds are a song unknown.

For her breath with mine was once so entwined ,
her hair once dangled before my eyes,
so elequent ,
yet so divine .
Yet her perfume on her lips I drank like the finest of wine
now vanished in a blink of time .

And so I sit in this chair of mine awaiting the sun ,
to shine ,
she was everything to me .
Divine .

For the song bird had never felt so sweet ,
as when with the daintiest of flowers ,
and her enchanting smile ,
she kicked off her shoes ,
and we jived a soda pop ,
a diddly dop at the local hop !

And O it is not yet spring and the storms of winter must
wither and fade ,

and as the rays of the sun shine on ,
Ice cream floats ,
and boats pass by ,
we will kick off our shoes and jive some day as the Ferrys sail by.

Then when the sun sinks behind the mount ,
It’s golden colours now all array ,
our Ferry shall we board on that day ,
and sail away under burning soda pop skies ,
where lilies dance in streams ,
far away ,
as we pass by .

There was once a game that was played on grass,
on a Saturday at three pm .
Or up for the cup ,
beneath flood lit lights on a Wednesday at half past seven .
No sky tv ,
no Thursday nights ,
not even Friday or Sunday afternoon.

The keeper wore green ,or yellow or white , or even blue ,
not pink or purple or orange .

You could pass the ball back from the half way line,
to the keeper who would take his time ,
to pick up a white ball and thump it .

No VAR ,
to screwtenise ,
the players every move .
  No stockings worn by players or mits or muffins or gloves .
No nice green lawns which never flood ,
so teams come off caked in mud and blood after ninety minutes .

Not even women screeching commentators getting excited all the time .
There’s no John Motson ,
no more Brian Moore ,
no sportsnight,
watching highlights with bleary eyes at what seems like midnight ,
in you’re pjs with coco before bed time .
Spotlights shone on cold Highbury nights of Armstrong ,
Ball , Charlton or Best .
For there are no turnstiles at White hart lane ,
pay as you enter ,
never quite the same.
So here’s to sky and bt for spoiling a game once full of romance ,
will it ever be the same ?

This morning ,
just before dawn ,
I opened my curtain and guess what I saw ?
It wasn’t a duck ,
although it waddled just the same ,
it wasn’t a rat,
It would have found a drain .
It had no tail ,
or fur for a coat ,
for then there were two ,
just ambling along ,
sharing a joke !
No hats or bags or coats or gloves,
for all the shops were shut .
I really hope they won’t be long .

We give to God what we call love ,
our simple gift to our creator above .

But what do we with all our sin look a while and enter in ?
Our blackened souls know nothing of love ,
that only comes from God above .

As black as coal ,
as sinful as the dark clouds that hide us from his light .

So must we walk in sins dark ways ,
for to know Christ we shall bring forth our praise ?

But the bright things of heaven trouble us still ,
as sins corpse we drag around ,
like some unwanted guest ,
who has stayed too long ,
and bids us no rest .
It has no skin or bone as such ,
and the chains attached are not of metal or steel ,
but something worse ,
our lust ,
Our greed ,
our never ending need .

For its parades  we love so much ,
we drag around like blood and guts ,
and we wonder why God loves us so much ?
each night we must die to what we know ,
and Christ’s light like a rainbow must rise ,
after the rains ,
has dampened our skies ,
it’s only then his light will shine ,
when we have only one heart ,
that’s thine .