If you rode off into the sunset
I'd bet you'd get lost.

But every sunrise
I've seen with eyes
mottled green by envy
has stunned me

and memory allows me
the vows I have taken
to forsake all the dark nights
in favour of dawn.

Prising open my eyes
from the old age that ties
me to a fleshed out weak frame
and conquering fear
I sip coffee with She,
a
lady I like to call mine.


Friday is my day when
the weekend fits to me
like a pair of old slippers.

Time
being a friend to me
though an enemy
of some
gives me the pleasure of
seeing one more sun.

Streets full of shadows  
and long rows of daffodils that
have not yet awoken

a broken cycle by
the traffic lights
which are permanently
red,

Hot chestnuts are not stolen
just hot and
policemen with lots to do

and on the omnibus
the radiatior plays
Handel,
water music to soothe
troubled minds.


Though tossed aside by the
turn of the tide it is still not
my time to ride into the sunset,
I take
as much pleasure from this as the
first kiss in Eden.