We climbed some hills
then descended deep into
wild woods in the valley
where
we spent some scary time
debating our crimes
before climbing out slowly

Where are we now, my love?

We stumbled fumbled and fell
into the raging river
full of rocks
scraped by stones
beaten by bits of trees
Desperate for air
we almost drowned
before we crawled out
to sit on solid  ground

Where are we now, my love?

I am wondering why
we are still savoring
sour-tasting memories
of war games

We were headed somewhere
Do you remember where?

Green is not my favourite colour
but I know not why
others love the green of trees
I seem to love the sky

The colour I prefer
is the one way up high
the blue that can be seen
when we look up at the sky

But if I fly up there
to find something that's blue
I'll never find a blue sky
it simply isn't true

I think
some of them
think
I am
stupid

Sometimes
I think
I am stupid
Mostly I think
they are stupid

Come to think
of it
we are all
stupid
sometimes

When the sun and moon in our sky
finally fade
taking the light
at the end of the day
at the end of the night
when all the sounds and sights
have gone with the day
and the world has wafted away
now is the time for warm embrace
gentle quiet touch
a heart to heart hush
No spoken words are heard

If I'm not here now, where will I be
Thrown up on a beach, or pulled out to sea
Lost in a story, about someone named 'Me'
Tossed by the waves, of history

Did the things I remember happen
Will my fantasies ever come through
I picked up the pieces of so many days
I should know by now, for sure

We discussed my imagination
debated the day, me and you
"The light's turning red" I said
but all you saw was blue

Today we have signed a treaty
and now there is peace in our land
We agree as we sit in the sun by the sea
building our castles from sand

Is reality real?
Policemen know
that witnesses
see
a different reality
"He did this
or she did that
I saw this
but she saw that
then this went here
or that went there 
What I saw was true
I swear"

All our eyes they say
work in the same way
but what we see
depends I believe
on what we ate
for breakfast
that day

Ok!
I'll write
a poem about flowers for you
but this is something
that I never do

I don't know
the difference
between the flowers I see
and owls and pigeons sound the same to me

I can't discriminate
between
an oak and an elm
The world of trees for me
is another realm

My friend Keith Wilson
has a gardener's green thumb
and this is how
he earned his income