They speak of winter as if the world has come to an end,
and so the Tudor houses are bolted up again .
For just as the sunlight dims on tops of hills and mountain streams ,,
on Cold winters and stormy nights .
Where some poor sod is chained to the walls of Bedlam hall ,
and all he sees from dawn to dusk  is darkness
and .
rats that crawl as  vermin ,their new found paradise .
So faint the fair lady’s breast that beats and finds no Nobel knight at all ,
just servitude to some wretched soul who knows no better hense ,
For into this world I was born .
The cruelest winters when rivers froze ,
and stay dogs  dug up just ice and snow ,
and wailed mercyfully into the night .for                  Bbbbbb.            there was no food in the lader ,
no mutten  or bread to eat ,
no work for life was harder than anyone could dare to think or speak .  And so many cruelty of which they did not understand ,
behind the walls of sanity ,
Is lost to every man ,
for silence feeds its  ghosts in years and every way it can .

locked doors and silent walls when love is not a guest .
But we embrace what can’t be known ,
Gods love and joy and peacefulness