The storm was raging outside my window,
Just before I left my bed,
But you were still sleeping,
Not wanting to wake,
And the seaside under my wardrobe
was collecting shells briskly.
The bedroom skies never sleep.
We used to paint Mona Lisa's,
Like plays on the stage,
Scribbling on the canvas
And we gave them as Christmas toys
To the vagabond that looked like James Dean,
Oh his life is was funny thing.

-Jamie F. Nugent