Without you, a bard without a voice, I yet sing
like a red brick without a wall, alone in the wind
a grimy watch with no hands, whirring away silently
an old rusty gramophone without a record
making creaking noises, as it spins air gallantly
a torn telephone cable that carries no words
or a creaky metal cage, long dead the birds
a whisper that reaches no ear, merely a sigh
a long winded speech that has all and sundry asleep
I feel inept, insignificant, incomplete
till you are here, and all is well, so it would seem.