The eyes of the world are upon
The crowded streets of Hong Kong
They want a free
Democracy
And are out to right a wrong

She would stand for no nonsense
Always at the bar dead on eight.
Had a pint of stout with an inch of froth
She wont be happy if her drink's late.

Down it in one she would, froth an'all
Down the hatch it slipped down in one
The bar man always watched with eager eyes
as the pulling of the next stout had begun.

She wiped her lips with the sleeve of her coat
She had no manners did our sweet lil
She would let out the biggest burp in the world
The bar shook then it would become still.

She looked around at fear ridden faces
She just smiled and they dare to smile back
She strolled back up the valley at around nine
and at ten she always hit the sack.

Curlers in , mud pack on and in she'd pop
Under clean sheets lying on her side.
A belly full of Irish stout .
Dream or nightmare - she could not decide.

She'd get up at six on the dot
and cook herself bacon and hot toast
she'd slurp her tea from off the saucer
and waited for the morning post.

Then it was back to bed until midday
and the usual same old boring thing.
Our sweet lily of the valley
Had given up wishing.

All she wanted in life was love
Just someone to share her life with
She thought she was attractive enough
and she knew she had so much to give.

To be continued..............

Trickling tingles bubble, goaded from the verdant body
As a butterfly’s flutterings coax the flow
Widening and filling
With a gentle lapping of inlets
Ripples tease the reeds into turgid tremors
Merging to waves
Wave upon wave
Curves slide over curves
And at the Delta’s swollen, gaping breadth
Crests slip over craving crevices
Slapping froth in desperate gasps
Milking cruel spasms from the urgent need to reach escape
Until with turmoil resolved
A gentle calm inundates the great ocean of sleep.

Today is such a beautiful day
I'm lining my pockets with leftovers
So all the bits and pieces I save
Can be enjoyed for later

Once I get the day back home
And lay it out on the table
I'll take canning jars and put it all in
Each one with a different label

I'll label one "The Perfect Sunshine"
Another "The Right Amount Of Clouds"
I'll put "The Cool Breeze and Birds Song" both together
They'll mix well when I let them out

I'll add the laughter of the children
Cheerfully in their play
The fragrance of flowers in the fields
To my jars of beautiful day

There's no need to put a date on them
A day like this could never go bad
Perhaps I will add a special note
Open...for the best day you've ever had

I bit open a lie and it tasted like you.