Paper, black ink on white fibre
The promise
An empty house beside a pointless lake
I would see the ducklings
Waddling through the houses
Mother always to the front, was she not?

And remember.......... the promise
I was your rock, you said
Dry tears in puffed out eyes,
ran black with shale eye paint
Your plans so thwarted............. as always.

Now, you want me to throw myself from it
But I promise, that this rock is mine, not yours'
Nor shall you climb it again,
And I shall not jump until it is my time
To live in the dusty valley underneath the earth
So for now, I give it to another,
Who simply understands pity