If love could be caught in a single flame ?
If love could be caught in faith or hope or even in itself ?
Or hide away on a shelf ,
never to be used .
But if this were true ,
then I would never have met you ,
or faith and hope with all their charms might have vanished like a vapor in your arms .

But love did come down even for a while ,
It rested on my shoulder ,
it made me smile .
And in that moment it would have been enough .

To fill my heart ,
to make it sing
to the kind of joys only you can bring .

Just one brief moment ,
just one fleeting kiss ,
was enough for you to remind me of this .
That you love me in so many ways ,
as ile love you till the end of my days .

Act one is the timeless joy of the hope that a new life brings,
before the curtain falls .
When everything is possible to a world that’s lost in sin .
When innocence is lost you can  stray too far from home ,

so  nothing is as it seems ,
and you wonder where the clowns have gone ?
They just hide behind their sneering smiles ,
and life in all its gawdy ness is now where You think you belong .?

But Those   pritty looks and charming smiles  are now ruin to a bottle of gin ,and life’s great act just wanders on again and again and again .

But the final act has yet to come you must enter the stage once more ,
the tyranny of modern man .
For life's  great highways seem far away ,
as you have walked where the snake and cockroaches gather their nests in empty doorways along your way .

And all you have is  six shillings to last you through the night ,
unless you flutter your eyelids to that gentleman ,
for your lodgings for he will gladly pay .
And yet each day goes on as summer follows spring ,
as the seasons morph into most glorious days .
Man with all his struggles does the best he can ,
for he was never asked if he wanted to live or die ,
yet here he is awoken to a screaming babies cry.

Once when the Autumn  leaves were falling ,
upon a crisp dry land ,
my Gran and I came across an Avenue of trees ,
which I for one thought it grand .
A tree to hind under ,
so I won’t be seen ,
a tree to hide us from the rains and  pelting stones ,
the shades of reds and oranges hiding in the firn groves ,
and evergreens .





But most of all a leaf my gran picked from where we both had  trod ,
it was a leaf gran placed in a book ,
but now sadly is  has  gone .

Woven into my memories a single leaf that never grew old ,
or crinkle or faded like the book of all its pages now curdled ,
yellow and old .


And one day I will find them both ,
In the Attic,
Or Underneath the stairs ,
to remind me of my dear gran and all the things we shared .

If love were a buttercup without any rain ,
If love were the suns scorching rays ,
If love were a melody of two lovers dancing as two fish get cought  up in a net ,
then struggling for their last fleeting breath ?
then why are the daffodils in such need of such rain ?
For  lt is like the downpours of spring followed by parched cracked earth again .

Then perhaps love is sometimes never to be found ,
buried in a Cist or a hole in the ground ?
And loves darkest alley ways are where we first met ,
a life time of sorrows I would live to regret ?

So if you see me passing think not of any of these things ,
Think only of love and what it might bring .
Think only of the times we shared ,
a kiss and a cuddle and the moon lit airs .
Think only ,
Think of me
awaiting your love by the old fir tree .

Are you following me ?
Or don’t you have a home?
Or is that home I speak of  is anywhere I go ?

You see I was lying here so peacefully  untill an hour or so ago,
When  you landed on my hand my arm my head , my toe , just
like you had no where else  to go .

So there you lay tired and worn  from all you that you have done ,
for in the grand scheme of things I’m glad our romance has begun.

For if you weren’t resting there  before my very sight ,
at least I wouldn’t of had you to think about ,
as I said goodnight .,

Can’t  you rest your tiny wings a while,
so let me think of you ?
For unlike all the other insects that sworm and bite and sting ,
you’re the prettiest of them all my blue bottled beautiful ,
elegant thing .

“ O wait for me won’t you for I won’t be long ,
I’m just going to sing to a Blackbird  a song “

So I waited by a Merry fair where all the girls that passed me ,
had curls in their hair ,  
and bonnets so rare ,                                                                ­             only for the sweets they offered weren’t bought at the fair .

So I doffed my top hat too many times ,
with a smile and a grin to remind me of happier times .
Of my sweet Polly Anna whispering sweet nothings at night ,
when the room is all cold and we’re snuggled up tight .

For my Polly loves nothing more ,
than to see me doffed  my top hat once more. .

So when she returns with a flower in her hair ,
at least I shall still be standing like Scarborough fair .

And so after a while ,
for my watch struck just after three ,
there she was she came a looking for me .
With an apple as green as the tall grass all around ,
she ate as she walked to me without a sound .

Her hair was down a flower she wore ,
When she threw the apple core on the floor .
Her eyes were twinkling thinking only of me ,
My sweet polly Anna for all the things you do to me .

Nobody believed in mr Bobbings any more ,
and pugtail  because of this was feeling rather sore .
Why would they no one ventured anywhere near Puggled farm .

Those  that did were up to no good ,
and usually ended up dead or on a block of wood ,
for Mr Bobbings was sometimes let’s say misunderstood.

And so the years went by ,
and it’s tales were forgot ,
and lovers prayed ,
for the years time could not .

But the trees still spoke when no one was there ,
to each other ,
with a careless abandon that brought a blush to the air .
But even so if all  but one of the animals had gone ,
Puggled. Farm still lived on .

As for mr Bobbings oh he was still there ,
Underneath the carpet ,
behind the stairs .
It’s just that no one really cared ,
except Puglit the only one to see him there .

As for the timepiece that still keeps time ,
and when Mr Bobbings dies maybe it will refuse to chime .
And Pugtail still returns back to his sty ,
to be fed and watered as time goes by .