I returned home from work one day ,
went to bed and here I lay ,
in my own room without a friend ,
to say good night ,
when will it ever end ?
And so to the bad ,
the great and the good ,

the whispering of the years ,
the misunderstood .
For the black bird still sings it’s merry tunes before dawn,
as i lie alone in my bed ,
thankful for all the years ..
They captivate me still ,
the snow drop yet to bud ,
the red ant who keeps a home for the stomaphis beneath the bark of an old oak tree ,
as my saviour keeps a place for me .
No woman have I held dear ,
her gentle touch when death is near ,
no whispers in my ear .

But I have seen luminous lights light up the beach as if it were day ,
and monsters of iron ,
giving out their steam ,
acuducts and tunnels built by mans own dream ,
Yet I have lived and has it not been grand ?

Still pity the man who has no hope ,
nothing to cling to when life becomes a joke ,
Who works and dies to what a cost ,
he has never seen Gods promises ,
and it is in them do I have my hope ..