I sit tinkering
with the bells in the wood
flicking the bell this way and that
Not doing me that much good.
Playing with my head
and that is not sheet music
it is regrets and bashed dreams
shot down completely dead.
The blues I call it the lavender blues
blue rinses, phone calls and lonely beds.
Not with fruity flowers but dried hay
I have the lavender blues that is
all that I can possibly say.