there lies a place, mere moments away
where you and i can go-
we’ll meet there by the apple trees,
summer rain and winter snow

and there beneath the soil
where the autumn leaves still rot
ready cellars brimmed with whiskey,
honey spilling from the ***-

we won’t see the colours
as they dip below the hill
nor hear the early risers-
as all the songbirds will

security, though plenty
will not a moments be-
yet all becomes the matter
when the matter comes to me