Her wings hung restless against the open shaw,
how she needed love like she did before ,
yet the evil knight with temprance went  followed her forever .

There was no cliff that she could hide ,
for her wings grew weary against the tide ,
the battering winds that were her guide ,
the evil knight that stalked her .

O help,me please “ said she but the geece flew south their flock forever honking  ,
"We cant help you we have to fly to feed our chicks or mate or die ,
and you have been left alone said I .
alas we cannot help ya ."

So she asked the winds to help her fly ,
against the bird that sort her ,
they lifter her up way on high above her evil stalker .



And so the evil knight that masked his wings
hid crafty thoughts above all things ,
but he somehow failed to find her.

“ There you are home at last ,”
said the wind that hid the blast ,
then softly died ,
and left her .

And as the rock which hid all things ,
in its cracks
her dainty wings
he hid them all her precious things
their mouths forever open ,
and so death became her daughter ,
and waited until she was alone ,
to stalk her .

O to the bells that toll at heavens gate ,
which tell me now am I too late ?

Yet here am I on this mortal slab I lay ,
with  just my bell to ring to pass the day .

They come to  poke and bellow and stare ,
yet they cannot see if I am there ??

‘ Is he dead ?
O for pity’s sake we hung him once at Tyburns gate ,
they pulled his legs to hasten the blow ,
and waited there untill his legs turned cold ,
an ode to be such a happy soul !


And so I wait with bated breath no prods or wails now ,
it must be said ,
for at last now they think I am dead .
Hung by a noose ,
a darning thread ,
the thrill of the crowds roar ,
alas they are no more .
But  I still have this bell to ring
at the end of my bed,
just in case they think I am dead !
With the scent of fungi and truffles
all around on this bed can be found,
with my bell to ring when ever you are near ,
to catch the wind ,
now come hither my dear .

A darkened sun rose ,
that didn’t shine ,
I didn’t ask it to ,
It wasn’t mine.

For that would be a waste of time .
So untill summer shines under it’s bombastic skies ,
I shall live a life that isn’t mine ,
for even that would be a waste of time .

Come fallen skies ,
the ones who  lost ,
That  felt no love ,
and feel no loss ,
for to what great a cost ,
their souls they blindly gave
to thee .

To touch you now and feel no pain ,
no love at all ,
to bind or gain ,
or even to wait for the sun to rise in vain ,
so to spend my time in sunflower fields ,
that do not ripen ,
So To walk in corridors that are not mine ,
for even that would be a waste of time.

For  now I see the shifting  clouds ,
they move away they are not mine ,
for even they would harken for happier times ,
untill blue skies appear

There. Once  was a dancing firelight unto which their  embers burnt ,
bewitching of the evergreens beneath where no one. ever  goes .

  For it was beneath the firelight she  went dancing ,
I know not how or when ,
or how long she stayed.,  for above it I heard  the Sylphs singing ,
their songs again and again .

Or dancing spirits i could not say
their form I could not tell ,
but she looked at them with piecing eyes ,
above the moonlit knell .

But if phantom bells don’t haunt me ,
as her winds sailed ever near,
a melody I heard you singing ,
were as sweet as lavender .

Oh these wretched wounds were borrowed she wore them like a trinket
on her ear ,yet                                                             ­                             when she turned to look at me her countenance disappeared.
Her brow and cheeks looked farrowed ,
her eyes gave out a stare ,
she took me back a moment ,
then  looked at me as if I wasn’t there .
Then turned away ,
as the fire slowly died ,
she took a stick to poke it ,
then looked into my eyes .

But somehow she was different ,
the girl I knew so well ,
she touched my touch as We put out the fire ,
as the sun rose ,
behind the trees ,
their naked branches I could not see ,
as the sun gave out its gaze so well .
Then smoke began to choke me as                          
I forgot what I had seen, as she whispered to me ,
“ now let my demons die “
underneath the evergreen.

The guns now fall silent ,
to not a single sound .
No marching bands or mothers cries could be heard ,
none that could be found .

Then I heard a bird singing alone ,high above where I stood .       Alone  it perched then rested beside me,
as I knelt with flowers ,
beside a grave stone stood .

You see he died the morning after he left me for the war ,
he died and left me alone as I had never been before .

He died with guns beside him ,
some a hero might say ,
but to me he was my lover ,
my dearest friend always .

And now yes the guns have fallen silent albeit for just a day ,
for somewhere there is another war ,
even to this  day .

Somewhere someone will shout you took my neighbors cat ,
or stray into an unknown land ,
their guns shall rise again .
But  for now There is silence and for now I shall settle for that .

Thimbleful  honey came home to find her pantry  bare ,
her bread was sold for half a crown ,
but she didn’t seem to care .

Now her husband was a jolly soul ,
he spent her money on gin ,
and so mr thimbleful came home one day ,
and. never got-up again .

Yet her pantry  needed filling ,
a piece of soap to wash the cat ,
Mrs Thimbleful went a begging ,
and wasn’t afraid of that .

But the men she saw were easy ,
for a tuppence for a time ,
one by one she saw them ,
by night ,
now wasn’t that a crime ?

Just to buy a loaf of bread ,
which was just enough to eat ,
so no wolf or desperate strangers should come a knocking at   her door ,
or pass her in the street .

yet  Mr thimbleful said nothing ,
he just drunk and slept all day ,
but at least she had a Lader full ,
and a smile to greet the day

I once knew a poet a long time ago ,
her words were of silent thoughts ,
even though she would not tell me so.

But her love for me was kindly that none should walk away,
or at least that’s what I thought at least unto this day .

But if words were like ships that sail out to sea ,
far away to paradise would that even  bother me ?
So  if dreams of paradise is how I think of you ,
then every word written ,
I would bestow  unto you .

But if words could send me to paradise and every thought came true ,
then why are we on different ships with storm clouds O and not blue ?