Our flying West into earlier
cheats the daying.
The earth turns its curve to before,
dipping the sun to below.

The process re-happens,
and undoes.

The risen gets set,

And it's so.....
we un-dawn as we go.

Well-perfect day...
everything pointing in.

Cricket on the wireless, and
England turning it to win in the middle.

Sun winding bubbles on the wine.

War gone into the heart of peace.

Love settled in midst, staying.

The table set for friends.....

And in the vase at very centre,
rose petals synchronise their inward curl.

The sun shone... and
the icicles wept
to tell their sad story, drip by drip.

How long ago,
when they were small droplets,
they were mustered into gather clouds
by the weather chiefs,

blustered about the sky,
blown to cold North,

until at last forecasted,

when they were bullied to tears.....
enough to drench that freezing day.

He had to admire her....
just look at her legs, all in place.
He wanted to kiss her
but, err, which end was her face?

Her wiggle said she was eager,
but suddenly all was quite clear....
'cos then he remembered the wisdom
to avoid those with a front like a rear.