Let’s us write poetry together,
if it’s the last thing we ever do ,
to dance until sunrise ,
or at least a final kiss with you .
For now the blackbirds have flown their nests ,
their Young with beaks open are still .

The cacti’s need for water ,
It dos’nt lust for its rains in spring ?
Or finds solace in sand storms the desert brings ?

For loneliness hides the hours when sunlight has finely gone ,
don’t be alarmed by the bells that ring out in the dead of the night ,
their tolls are not for you .

Or the wealthy merchant who counts his coins ,
Or the baker who failed to put out the fire .
Or even the shoals before the fisherman’s net is cast ,
as they find warm shallow waters for their eggs to hatch .

It’s for the Viking long boats who down their masts ,
when the wind drops ,
and the anchor falls ,
for then there finds blood on England’s shores .
for King Johns snipers who’s targets find their mark ,
on peasants who once found game to **** ,
In the dead of winter ,
Suffered still .
This is why the bells ring
but most of all it rings out for our love ,
Lost in it’s winters thrill .

It won’t be long before the blackbirds return ,
their young ones have spread their wings ,

for loneliness reaches out its hand like a ghost in its shallow grave it’s call ,
and for this fame and fortune,
call it what you will must bring .
For I am alone ,
for you’re love meant everything.