There is something beautiful
That appears every single night
The hour of the pearl begins
When we turn off the light.
It is the silvery disc shining down
A loyal satellite in our skies
Stare at it too much
You’ll have spots before your eyes.
Can we see a face?
Is it the man in the moon?
Like it is depicted
In a children’s television cartoon.
Is it a big slice of cheese?
Just suspended in outer space
With little mice in spacesuits
In their little hiding place.
Or is it a big jewel
Twinkling in a huge golden crown
Fit for only those with enough money
And a super sized ball gown.
Will there be trips to walk amongst the dust?
That has not moved since beginning of time
With your new moon boots and suits
New craters to discover, new hills to climb.
Will we have rockets ready in a launch pad?
Just sitting waiting for mission control
Next door neighbours blasting off like no tomorrow
Exploring the old black hole.
Will there be holiday companies
Will there be hotels by the million
But all with the same old view
A super nova to look at occasionally
From a helmet you can just about see through.
No special menu, no specially cooked meals
Just tablets of dried up pieces of dust
Made from chemicals designed to taste like
Best steak and mushrooms in a cheese pie crust.
No drinks from the bar, no happy hour
Just controlled vapour from a tube
Whizzing down one’s throat.
Complete with an artificial ice cube.
Do you really want of all this?
It could really all come all too soon.
But between you and me, I would rather
Just enjoy the beauty of the old moon.

"It's like an oven in there"
The cake would say.
The trouble I have had today.
Blasting heat, smashing my tin
Which the goo is sitting in.
Tapping to see if I have got
A soggy bottom. If you please.
If I had, I certainly would not
Broadcast it.  Keep it clean.
Scraping the bowl,  oh I would love to do that.
Fingers and spoon to lick
Magic box of tricks
That cake mix.
No one has touched me
Not been anywhere near me.
Not even a try
I wonder why.

I have to tell you about a musical mouse
he lives here with me in my house
he taps his feet
to the beat
and perform the waltz to the composer strauss.

The anticipation, the excitement, the passion
Heart pounding like it's going out of fashion

The magic,  the memories it will bring
White dress, white pearls, golden ring.

Choirs, flower girls with a youthful smile
Archways to walk under and pose for awhile

Growing old together, till death do they part
Still the first kiss as an effect on the old heart

It still beats with a passion, but a slower pace
and the lips taste the same from the same face

The feelings, the vows that they kept are still the same
It is the look of love, the taste that ignites the flame.

The first kiss was recorded on the oak tree in the park
where they both shall lie eternally when it gets dark

Always together, forever that was written in stone
Hand in hand they lie and they will never lie alone.

Horse manure shovelled around a delicate rose
Now what is that all about and why?
I think possibly the plant holds its breath
and starts to moan and then cry.
That is a nice pleasant smell!
Do you think the rose thinks that?
We all know its the goodness it'll absorb
and not just like a smelly doormat.
But later when the blooms are large
Who is the one getting the credit then?
Back the horse up with a smile on its face
Lift up the tail and shout "when".
Out plops the steaming stuff on target
just right where the plant grows.
The gardener with hope in his heart
Strength in his arms and a peg on his nose!

Rudolph is prompt and it is a quarter past eight
He is in a panic thinking that Santa will be late
You'd think with all the elves he employs
they would be on the ball with the toys
he then hears Santa whistling and panting
under his own breath he is stressing and ranting
then through the valley vale and fells
hark it is the sound of the sleigh bells
at long last Santa is definitely on his way
Rudolph and his team pulling the  heavy laden sleigh

Unexpected, excited and alert
Roll down the curtain
Let the magic begin.
A wave of the wand
A flash of a light
A roll of a drum
Crash bang wallop in front of yourself
The magic was performed.
How?
When?
One asks oneself?
Magic exists my friend.

It is like walking in a mist
an opaque vision is to fear
lost in a fog in your mind
but will things become clear.
Come to a junction in a road
choices are left or right
no straight road is ahead
the decison becomes tight.
stressful, lost in a way unknown
no satellite navigation found
no internet for your mobile phone
there is emptiness all around.
Even the sun does not appear
at least you'd fathom east or west
instead you walk in a dense mist
and all that ou do is your best.

Waste is such an ugly word
yet we all have waste.
In the form of excess baggage,
too much food and desire.
The wanting to keep
the need for more.
The harvest that you reap
is booted out of the door.
But we must save,
Save is such a lovely word.
Save our planet, save our thoughts.
Help those that are in need.
Dont waste, but save and keep
There are hungry mouths to feed
Save the harvest that you reap.

What a funny little thing this fairy was all dressed in pink
For saying she was the Fairy of an Orchard it'd make you think.
For this little person could not stand any kind of fruit
And if it were up to her she would find a substitute.
If she could cover everything in toffee, now there is a treat
She longed for chocolate apples, how lovely and sweet.
When the little unripe pips were still in the prettiest flower
She had one word, one vision, one smell in her head - sour.
This has all been happening right as far back as a tiny youth
And she did not dare go to the Chief of Fairies and tell the truth.
Instead all of her days she would sit on her laptop and skype
From the fruit in pink flower to a full blown apple that's ripe.
She used to tell other fairies she hated the taste. the smell
Especially the pears that go squishy after they had fell.
She used to sit holding a handkerchief against her nose
and she could not stand any fruity sap sticking to her toes.
She had a prime spot, a fairy flat in an orchard is expensive
But between me and you she could find somewhere better to live.

A Touch of Love

Silently without thought
He slides his arm around her waist.
Brushing her face with his finger
Her soul feels embraced.
Nothing needs to be said
It is written across his face
The love they feel for each other
Could never be replaced.
But there is something
Buried deep inside his head
Something to which she cannot access
Something which she will always dread.
There is a frown that passes his brow
Each time he looks lovingly at her
It rings alarm bells in her mind
An emotion she would transfer.
Does he love her? I am sure that he does
He stays with her so that is clear
A shiver runs down her spine
And now she have everything to fear.
The grip tightens
She looks at him as if she’s under review.
His icy blue eyes smile and he whispers to her
“My darling, you are my life, I do love you.

Around the clock
Measured time reflects
Colour and distorts into a stream.
A refracted light beam
A watercolour dream.
A downstream bush
Carries a dappled thrush
Guarded by a deep brown bullrush.
A velvet sword, a companion smiling
The water swirling and sparkling
Dripping cascading and firing
Droplets of light onto the green.
The clock strikes two
Mist has gathered around the Ash
Elm and lingers under the Yew.
Fairies flit here, there in the fog
draping cherry blossom through water,
arranging it like a carpet on the log.
Three, four and five o'clock drift slowly by
The velvet sword shines lighting the way
Fairies, after their meeting away they fly
Bringing six, seven and eight of the day.
Sunshine buries the mist, its warming
leaves, berries are about to burst.
The afternoon starts informing
bad weathers on its way, prepare for the worst.
But around the clock, the sword shows
the time on its hand, its part
and the forest, for the fairies, still grows.

Years ago when I was small
Still small now – that’ nothing new
The river would be my port of call
Where I would admire the view
I had everything under control
And had devised a cunning plan.
Out came my bamboo pole
And my tiny baked bean can.

You see I always had a wish
As I sat there with a flask of tea
That  I could catch some fish
From a boat on the sea.

But as I sit by the  brook
My skin shivers and I sqiirm
As I attach to a battered hook to
Half of a chopped up worm.

If ever I got the chance to change the world
I make mountains out of coffee and cream
the rivers would flow with strawberry milk
and there would be fudge in every stream.
Blueberries would hang from trees galore
the trees bearing non stop fruity jam
there would be sacks of oranges everywhere
plenty for every child, woman and man.
Cabbages would line each street
covered with a sauce rich in cheese
creamy mashed potatoes in every doorway
crammed with grilled mushrooms and peas.
Fences made out of bacon and tomato paste
onion gravy on rooftops with fried bread
plenty of food to go around if ever I got my way
and each hungry mouth would be fed.

I sat there in my chair today
Quite relaxed.
Then slam in my face the door shuts
A bolt of lightening strikes
Once again.
News not expected came
From out of the blue mirky waters
That are drowning my soul.
They suddenly, a light came
Once again.
This light cleared the way
A positive charge fell
The blue water turned crystal clear
Once again.
Hope surrounded me.
I drew breath, it was nice.
Once again.
Now I am feeling relaxed
In the knowledge that help is at hand
And I can continue
Once again.

The peel is steeped
in rich amber breath
coloured by nature
stolen at birth
Bitter sweet friend
the lemon, the rind
nothing to the end
nothing left behind.
But the orange,
the orange has tips
it has life it has history
it has the blessed pips.
Bitter sweet good health
leave nothing to chance
leave not on the shelf.

Its train floated like silk along a long winding river
Floating in the direction of a cool breeze.
Lace tapping on her flesh made her shiver
Memories thawing as if from a deep freeze.

Little roses sewn on by hand were on the bodice
Trailing over her shoulder and down her back
The dress made her feel like a godess
Or like a Princess on horseback.

The dress gave her confidence, made her feel brave
Feeling special whenever the dress was worn
But there is a secret which she took to her grave
And nobody knew but the dress was torn.

Looking, deep in thought
Just looking, nothing more.
Transfixed with the view
I heard a sound at my door.

I stirred to answer the call
Eyes adjusting to the light.
But it was nothing, nothing at all
It was the middle of the night.

Were those visions dreams?
Were they all inside my head?
But I saw something, I knew it
Was I dreaming in my bed?

It was like yesterday on the horizon
Haunting me, messing with my mind
I looked for evidence of the dream
But there was nothing for me to find.

Memories playing tricks, real tricks
Myself, actually teasing myself.
How dare my sub-conscious annoy me
putting my sanity on the shelf.

I will question my thoughts for days to come
Sounds like my mind is having fun.
At my expense? I don't think so, oh no.
But it was like yesterday on the horizon.

Looking from a distance
Above and beyond
Is there life somewhere else
and would they ever respond.
I sit and watch the shooting star
zooming across the midnight sky
Wondering where it came from
and how, and when and why.
Has it seen stuff that would make
our hair just curl up and die?
Or is it just innocent and youthfull
and just simply passing Earth by.
They are perhaps life's little secret
Maybe moonbeams do float in a jar
Perhaps we shall never know the answer
of the mystery of the shooting star.

Birds On A Line
An early morning chat up line, to have a moan and a whine
Birds come for miles to have a perch on the washing line.
A row of bright orange spindly short bony legs
Crushed in-between old big, fat wooden clothes pegs
Dozens of beady eyes staring at an icy weaving trail
Made by a rather tempting delicious unfortunate snail.
A couple of birds pluck up courage and sing
Together with backing singers from the fairy ring.
There is a hustle and bustle high in the trees
Violently shaking the crisp golden leaves.
Cackles and loud high pitched warning cries
Coming from a couple of suited and booted magpies.
The commotion stirs talk amongst the birds on the line
News travels fast on the old bird grape vine!
The snail is spared to live just another day
Birds say their goodbyes and go their own sweet way.

We await the man in red
The man wearing the curly beard
He brings gifts to cheer and his
time keeping is rather weird.
It is a wonder he is not sick
sliding down chimneys one after the other
It is a good job he has a red uniform
otherwise it would blow his cover.
But why does he not get soot on his beard
it is always gleaming snowy white
surely it must scrape the filth from chimneys
sliding down them on that special night?
His trousers are spotless too
They must be made from extra tough stuff
Surely they must tear on ragged old bricks
They must have old nails that's sharp and rough.
and it is a wonder he is not drunk
knocking back glasses and glasses of sherry
it is a wonder he can see where he's going
but alas it must make his day oh so merry.
There are thousands that wouldn't mind that job
looking after Rudolph and team, making sure they're fed
Stacking the sleigh, eating mince pies, it's a tough time
it is hard being that white bearded man in red.

She blushed
she went beetroot red.
his breath quickened pace
he too went red in the face
Their hands shook
He had another look
He went red a little more
Her eyes were glued to the floor.
She was tenser than tense
to him things did not make sense.
What was wrong, does anyone know?
Is Cupid short of one arrow? if so
it has most probably got lost above
in the little land they call love.

There is a rumour
that Mother Nature spills
it creeps among the clover
and drifts across the hills.
Spilled from beaks
that peck the tiny pink
it falls from open mouths
awash with salty drink.
These rumours fade
every now and then
then hide in the shadows
waiting to emerge again.
Then before it realises
those rumours appear like magic
their timing almost a threat
and the result is tragic.
The land moves closer
like pennies at the bar
tipping towards the edge
then it has gone too far.
Everything in its path then fall
falling forever, now it is too late.
The earth below is now another image
it was in the rumour, its own fate.
The earth's plate decided to slide
had a bit of a shift around
Taking no prisoners, it just moved
a mud slide, above and below ground.
It takes the decision
whether we like it or not
Nature, wildlife and humans
suffer, has Mother Nature forgot.
Forgot that changes matter
everything has a consequence
she is blind and very deaf to it
and lacks the common sense.
The shape of the coastline
now a very different kettle of fish
But why could she have not left it alone
is what we all now wish.
But Mother Nature appears to be selfish
it suits its own little self
Now the land above panics,
sitting on Mother Nature's shelf.

He is an eating machine
who gives himself grief
Devouring expensive cuisine
Whilst sitting on his leaf.

The time he sit there is brief
Gosh the minutes are umpteen
Boredom gets beyond belief
And his language is obscene.

The little frog – yes that is a relief
You’d think would be nice and clean
In the water he is the God, the chief
No wonder he is a funny shade of green

It was a cold morning
It was the middle of June
Without notice, instant warning
The weather sung another tune.
A warmth swept across her face
She thought it appropriate to smile
She sat on the grass to admire the place
and enjoy this feeling she had for a while.
On top of the cliff, there were flowers
she had never observed before.
Nature had gifted natural powers
Seeds had embedded from being washed ashore.
She stroked petals, admired the shadows cast
There was a breeze being swept from the sea
She has read the papers, no bad weather forecast
Now the branches were swaying on the tree.
The clouds huddled together and turned grey
A violet hue appeared from nowhere above
As dark and dense as a blueberry souffle
and now as blue as a garden foxglove.
Something was happening and on the cards
Hairs on the back of her neck stood tall.
Fear set in as if she were in the darkest graveyards.
She was near the cliff edge -  she could fall
She crawled in land to be on the safe side.
She thought it better to crouch low.
She wished she had somewhere to hide
Somewhere the wind would have the chance to blow.
But there was nothing, just a flat hill top with a steep drop.
The strength of the wind picked up a pace.
She just wanted everything to stop
But the wind now slashed the skin from her face.
It whistled, it whined, it swept her here and there.
She crawled like she had never before to get from the edge
This situation now became a living nightmare
She disappeared into a ditch and clung onto a thorny hedge.
She lay there wet and cold for the best part of an hour
Clinging onto something sharp, with hope in her heart.
The wind had blown the petals from the little flower
The sky had now cleared, clouds were ready to depart.
The wind had ceased, there began a sense of calm
Her legs were ***** and covered in a wet sticky dew
But she was safe and sound and away from harm
She had a story to tell, the day the wind blew.

The Pig rose from his chair
His tummy full of crackers and cheese
He’d polished off another éclair
And wiped the cream from his knees.
The Duck was devouring cheesy strings
And a sandwich crammed with ham
He’d got lemon curd caked in his wings
And his beak was smeared with jam.
The Pig was in a daydream
Thinking of something sweet
Perhaps some juicy cherries and cream
Topped with chocolates and wheat.
The Pig retired to his sty
He had become quite ill
The Duck knew the reason why
And told him to stay still.
He asked the Hen for advice
Whilether Pig counted sheep
The Hen said he was paying the price
But nursed him while he was asleep.

As the temperature in the room
Changes from red to blue
And the bread alters to become glue
My heart splits and is broken.
Silently they came, without hesitation
Initially with just a token
I was armed with a question
And silently they came.
Take away, they took away
And now the blood in my veins
Rings true and the mood
In my brain becomes blue.
Nothing was spoken, and
Silently they came.

He rolls home at an unearthly hour
covered in a new shade of lipstick
Perfume and a note stuck to his pocket.
She waits, patiently, till she spots him
singing at the top of his voice.But no more.
Panic grips his throat, silences his joy.
A tired hand whizzes across his cheeks
a red reminder that satisfies her anger
Questions, upon questions are fired
like a bullet from a gun.
She wants answers, no more patience.
What is done is done.
She drags his weary sack of bones he's tired
She wants revenge.
He wants to sleep.
She wants to weep.
He's out like a lark.
When loves turns dark.

I have got a large orange pumpkin
sitting waiting for Halloween.
I just need to carve its tough outer skin
and place a candle inside when it's clean.

I'm planning to carve a scary face
to keep all the evil spirits away
Never met a witch around this place
but tomorrow could be another day.

Going to get some special things
for when the children play trick or treat
I love the mystery this day brings
and all the special foods to eat.

Apples covered in toffee, sausages in sauce
fluffy white potatoes crumbled with cheese
I show absolutely no remorse
For meat ***** with mushy minty peas.

Halloween the very name sends shivers
down the length of my spine
My legs are shaking and head quivers
but do not worry I will be fine.

] do  hope that I have not offended anyone after reading my poem called childhood.  If you have been offended then I sincerely apologise.
It was not my intention to embarrass or offend anyone.  Thank you

They wave in the breeze
A silent wind
That travels far.
Their heads bow with respect
They want peace
That travels far.
The poppy - a sign of remembrance
Its petals nodding in the breeze.
Saying no more war, no more.
Too much blood shed,
its petals painted red.
Its eye watches show the white flag
Saying no more war, no more.
The poppy, a sign of peace,
everyone wants peace.
Everyone.
Place a poppy on yourself,
a sign of respect, to remember
those killed in a war. No more.
A field of red, where they lay
The innocent poppy, it will say
no more.  Please no more.

Never make eye contact with next door's cat
Turn the other way if it does that.
As it passed me by
It gave me the "eye"
For saying that he is as blind as a bat.

My world is green
breathing in clean
air among fields supreme.
trees that are evergreen
golden berries between
thorns that are obscene.
Soothe them with the jelly bean
sweet as honey, rich as they come.
My world is red
where poppies drape in flower beds
glorious sun beating down overhead.
Red as blood splashed on
my hospital bed
that squeezes out of gaps in my head.
Life that pumps through me till I am dead.
Enough said.
My world is blue
The rent is overdue
The landlord does not have a clue.
As Fred Flintstone once said
as he drank is golden brew
from prehistoric hops that he grew.
It is what you have come through
in life and gained.
Then he said yabbadabbadoo.
Way to go Fred.

A slight of hand
will mystify you
a wave fo the wand
will do too.
But to place in a hat
which has become a habit
his daughter's pet
a disgrunled rabbit.
The pull it out
when the magic word's said
accept the applause
and place the hat on his head.
Is a bit of a disgrace
for the poor pet
look at this pitiful face
that's  as much as you will get.
Noh shock, no suprise met by all
is it magic then one would say
the rabbit does not want to know
s llong as he eats at the end of the day.

”Oh my dear, what is this life
Is it a crazy, crazy dream?
Are we two lovers trapped
Trapped in a world of fun.”
“What!” a ******* up face said
I have only come to borrow tea
I’m not your man, my name’s Fred
And put some clothes on so I can see.
The neighbour had his spectacles
In a right old steamy way
He only fancied just a cup of tea
Now he is too embarrassed to say.
“Come here my prince and grabbed
Him by his thin choking throat
Tell me how much you love me.”
The neighbour drew close his coat
“What I know is I’d love a cup of tea.
Don’t get me wrong I like you just  a bit
Think you have got the wrong end of the stick love
Now let go of my throat before I have a fit.”
“All mine until forever more.”
She has gone mad he thought, whatever next
He edged his way towards the door.
She half smiled and sat down and said
“That will do I think, its cool.”
The neighbour kept his beady eyes peeled
And realised she had been rehearsing for school.
She laughed and said “thanks” and flopped on the couch
He flopped also and she wriggled a bit and thought.
Maybe he likes her after all, maybe he didn’t
Maybe he fancied his chances for once to be caught.
What the heck, they held hands and he got his tea
She got her man, he felt a fool
She played her role, he denied it all
They are both together now which is cool.

Choosing a colour, a pigment for the sky
to define clouds as they float on by.
s quite a tricky task, I tell you
But then as usual I go for trusty blue.

Which blue, there are so many
Do I go for ultramarine or the colbalt
Is my sky in a summer's season or what?
Either way if it is wrong it'll be my fault.

But there again it is in my little world
The painting is coming from my own head
I resort to to my usual way of painting a sky
A nice colbalt blue with a touch of red.

Perfect, tiny presented girls
Red petals plucked at dawn
Arranged on a broken saucer
condensing on the lawn.
Fairies making gifts to sell
To raise pennies for toys
All female fairies do it
Just to annoy little boys.
Dabbing the sweet stuff
That's turned brown in the sun
Raising a few pence for charity
But the fairies have the fun.

There lying amongst the sea of red
a single poppy detached, lone
it lies where others bled
fallen, never to return home.
We remember the brave
the fallen heroes, their strength
and courage which they gave
and they went to some length.
We shall never forget, we shall never forget
that single fallen flower bows to their grave
we shall always remember them
and the courage which they gave.

Tough times require tough measures
Gone are everyday unexpected pleasures.
Struggle, nothing but struggling to make ends meet
Keep the belly full and the landlord sweet.
Nothing in the pocket for nice things any more
Thank goodness they don't have to sleep on the floor.
Yet. That might be the case sooner than they think
Money wise, little hope, they are on the brink.
Unless they win some lottery, or unexpected prize.
Fat chance of that, nothing comes their way,no surprise.
But today the postman with a whistle left a card on the mat
He stumbled towards it with a frown, could be this or that.
He turned it over and it said scratch off the foil
Another junk mail, it made his blood begin to boil.
He threw it in the bin, but she fished it out and put it in a tin.
"It'll do for scrap when we need paper it is just waste"
But he reached into the tin and rubbed his head in haste.
His fingernail began to remove the foil bits one by one
The numbers he'd revealed matched and indicated he'd won.
His body spun, tears poured from his eyes, he couldn't speak
His hands had the shakes and now his knees had gone weak
"Look" he croacked,  "have I won".She snatched the slip
Her mind went crazy,world went black and water she did sip.
It appeared they had won one hundred thousand pounds
He kept saying it, slapping his own face with a hurt it sounds.
She had blacked out again, a crumpled mess on the floor
He had his best vest on and had shot out of the door.
To claim what was rightfully his, his much loved prize.
He'd returned his pockets bulging, he had big thighs
Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, singing a happy song
They had catapulted up the social ladder all day long
Drinking champagne, dining with a bag of fish and chips
They had hope, a song, and tomato sauce all round their lips.
Tough times had gone.

Silently without thought
He slides his arm around her waist.
Brushing her face with his finger
Her soul feels embraced.
Nothing needs to be said
It is written across his face
The love they feel for each other
Could never be replaced.
But there is something
Buried deep inside his head
Something to which she cannot access
Something which she will always dread.
There is a frown that passes his brow
Each time he looks lovingly at her
It rings alarm bells in her mind
An emotion she would transfer.
Does he love her? I am sure that he does
He stays with her so that is clear
A shiver runs down her spine
And now she have everything to fear.
The grip tightens
She looks at him as if she’s under review.
His icy blue eyes smile and he whispers to her
“My darling, you are my life, I do love you.

This little man
Will do all he can
To eat all his beans
And avoid his greens.
For him it is considered beneath
To keep clean his teeth.
There is little hope
Of owning a bar of soap.
To let an evening pass
He would roll in wet grass.
Then to get himself in gear
Knock back four pints of beer.
He has been told “elf”
Take a look at yourself
You have got yourself to blame
You have brought much shame.
You must go through a door
And find it in yourself to explore.
So it was that he became irritable
With the thought of eating a vegetable
He knew he was quite snappy
But what would make him happy?
Slow breathing in and out
Just made him want to shout
Who would want to embrace?
His ugly little face?
So he had a choice
Led by a comforting voice
Choose which door
He needs to explore.
Go through the door of red
Where one stayed in bed and just ate bread
Or the door painted green
He would get himself clean
Or go through the door marked blue
Find out what he is addicted to.
That thought was just plain crazy
He knew he was lazy.
He was the little man with a very short shelf
Plonked on a label branded a very lazy elf.

Everyone in the house
say "Yes"
Would you like to hear what I have to say
say "Yes"
Would you like to know what it is?
say "Yes"
Everyone in the house
say "Yes"
I have Parkinsons Disease
Are you still here
say "Yes"
Show your support for me by saying
"Yes"
To all shakers out there we have hope
Say "Yes"

We can all shield our emotions
Put on a painted brave face
Like a clown in a sweet shop
and yes it's okay to cry.
Sometimes just a knee **** reaction
or a unexpected ending to a popular film
You can feel the sadness about to explode
and yes, it's okay to cry.
Men feel they have to be superheroes
be oblivious to emotion
but I know deep down they just want to let it out
and yes it's okay to cry.
You have missed your train, 'plane or 'bus
Missed an appointment or lost your keys to your car
It is not the end of the world I am sure
and yes it's okay to cry.
We feel better after a handful of tears
and good pocket size handkerchief will do
Let us all have a jolly good cry right now
because it is okay to cry.