Your ending they are always so swift to call,

one school goes back and it's officially Fall,

pumpkin pie quick to to the oven,

a thousand witches beckon their coven.

Be slow:

they'll be more sunny hurrahs, more bright highs,

it's not gone until it's gone this summer in the sky.

And it never leaves without saying goodbye.

I was looking forward to beginning a book about felines,

the beautiful view of moggies in verse and rhymes,

but after perusing a few there was a nagging sense in my head,

I didn't agree with a lot
that I read:

I saw words like "aloof", "distant", "scorning",

as if these things only

arrive when they deem to

call,

and I thought you really

don't know cats at all...

They'll follow you down the road to see you for a bit more time,

and sit on the knee, purr contented divine:

although still a bit scared on her back will roll and with vulnerability meet,

conjuring up the sweetest of greets.

Someone once sang...

"Don't get excited, cats will never be our sidekick
so I know our love will always be unrequited."

However...

Bouncing down the street to see me when I got home from school,

I forgot in an instant a bully was cruel,

then lost, bereft, day all of the slow,

went and sat on my shoulder to say, "I'm here, you know":

an attempt to lift, a furry kick-start,

if that's unrequited I choose a broken heart.

Okay, maybe a scratch, never say never,

but our love is precious

and always forever.

Write what you see, sing your song,

but please, please,

stop getting cats wrong.

The field just behind our house looks glorious,

do I think that due to beautiful sunset aesthetic or as it leads to the home of us?

I'm not sure but on the twilight of today
I have it made either way.

Bees nestle in sunshine flowers,

a once adrift cold cat now warm in her glory hours,

birds coo rounded and loud,

the awesome blue sky without cloud.

Although objectively wonderful I wouldn't like it as much if not for you two,

all your actions gilded love's hue:

I'm lucky I came up smiling from the roll of the parent dice

and this little back garden resembles paradise.

You smiled, and the whole world shone with you.

Delicate as a tadpole searching for hope in a raging sea,

precious the fledgling who scrambled to the top of the tree,

special the speck that thunders through time with right now brief,

important as the greening for the saddest lonely leaf:

an emerging butterfly

casting wing by a motorway,

you're amazing as the love that makes this day today.

People say to me

"you're always happy you, you always have a smile""

And they're right, right now in this moment I do smile,

because in this time of a little while

all is content,

and Heaven sent:

my Hazel shines wonderfully, with all the bright in her heart,
Amber never stops scampering her dreamself from the morning's start,

my Mum and Dad look healthy, going away seems far from their door,
and angry Poppet wags her tail
but then gives me that cat face i adore.

My many amazing friends are astounding, I love them as much as an eye wants to see,
and I blush with the bloom of joy when they want to hang around with me.

So when people say

"you're always happy you, you always have a smile""

I think,

well course I am,

this beautiful life is running wild.

Never won

the money lottery yet,

not that prone to gamble, flutter or bet,

sans engaged with bingo or slot machines,

uninterested in the coin toss of fifty fifty dreams.

But I should,

cos I'm lucky:

in the trillions, billions and millions of folk in the world

our paths crossed

and made my life journey better;

I cherish every letter

of your name:

so glad you're here,

so glad you came.

Its hard to deny the thought
you won't always be here,
because you won't.
One day I'll post if people want to mark your passing
they should get to a place
where your gone leaves that dreaded space.
But not right now:
now we can laugh
and you can hold my hand with love
as I'm getting off the bus,
we can argue about the merits of giving titbits
to that little tabby ****.
We can arrange to meet for dinner
in a greasy spoon
and after our fill of calories part with the words "I'll see you soon."
We can chat about football and how City win supreme,
you can peck my head
about if I'm keeping my flat clean.
Of all this I want more
but for the now
I'll be glad
that when people ask what I did last night
I'll reply that I went for drinks with my Mum and Dad.

Though old

and hands semi broken by time

fingers still cradled cigarettes and wine,

they spoke of you:

caught by age but vibrant enough to do the dance you wanted,

full of life as the shell was cracking,

talking with glorious yapping,

not allowing the beating of the clock to take its toll

with all that sunshine in your soul.



Empty seats emptier without you there,



I love you,



take care.

Love

for your ubiquitous beauty I'm glad,

I know in the future I'll curse you

because here will be no longer

what I had;

but I wouldn't want it any other way

as you make my life

every day.

The blood had fell
for many a year,
the bodies never ceased to drop,
and every person shed a tear.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob joined up in January 1918
as he had turned the age he had to go,
him and his friends went to enlist
as English pavements filled with snow.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred was from a near-by town,
went down to enroll with fear in his tum,
he didn't really want to sign up,
as he'd miss his Cat, his Dad, his Mum.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred and Bob had a torrid time
in that drowning stinking mud,
and met when they were deployed together
after The Battle Of Belleau Wood.

In the awful years of The Great War.

They clapped eyes on each other in a trench
and their hearts simultaneously began to flutter,
wonder stirred in their souls,
words of love they wished to utter.

In the awful years of The Great War.

They were both drenched in horror,
shrouded in a bombed out trance,
but began to feel some ease
with every stolen glance.

In the awful years of The Great War.

They talked in down hours,
how they'd eventually leave Hell, sit hand in hand, try to forget what they had seen,
full of peace and calm,
in a field of summer green.

In the awful years of The Great War.

When no-one else was looking
they'd try and dull the machine gun hiss
and find a tiny space
for a fleeting enamoured kiss.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Inevitably they got *****,
talked about what fleshy designs they could be,
Bob said, "I'm up for owt!"
Fred replies, "oh, perhaps you could *** on me!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob chucked, "ha ha, I'm up for that,
anything to please you that is in my power!'
Fred responded, "great my love,
I'll look forward to a *******!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred and Bob continued their covert romance
and anticipated the day when Fred would get a jet of Bob's yellow
but then one became their leader
was the most terrible fellow.

In the awful years of The Great War.

He waltzed in and stated with arrogance,

'I'm now in charge of you, you ghastly bunch of ****!"
He was the most frightful man:
Major Barthomley Pitt.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Despite never seeing combat
Pitt did pontificate, "deserters he would shoot,
cowards would go up against the wall
and the scared get the gun boot."

In the awful years of The Great War.

But what Pitt hated most
was "men who go up other mens' rears,
I ******* hate those sodomites,
I ******* hate those queers!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

Pitt continued that he'd "rooted out sin
whether it be meek or mild
and I have filled with bullets
those who enjoy copulation like Oscar Wilde!"

In the awful years of The Great War.

In the middle of this diatribe a shell exploded,
the debris torn into Bob's arm,
and a mustard gas cloud appeared
before anyone could raise the alarm.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Fred had got a lung full,
Pitt cowering started to look for his own cover,
but both Bob with only one upper limb working started to think about his lover.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob ****** on a hanky as he knew ammonia
could relieve the toxic gas and stop a man from being dead,
and in a desperate lunge in the front of Pitt
placed the sodden rag on the face of Fred.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Just a minute ago Pitt was shouting,
off on one of his vile anti ****** rants
but just 60 seconds later a puff was giving another puff in front of him
a pair of hard ons in their pants.

In the awful years of The Great War.

Bob and Fred were rushed to field hospital
and of that abomination of war did get away,
and were both still bedridden
when on the 11/11/11 was declared Armistice Day.

No more awful years of The Great War.

After it had ended Bob and Fred moved to  separate houses in a village,
Bob's inheritance made this dream,
and they would go deep in the woods
and be their serene supreme

No more awful years of The Great War.

They would laugh about how they had made it,
their glee made the sun more brightly beam,
on this peaceful blue calming day
Bob and Fred found their field of green.

A happily ever after The Great War.

As leaves fall more
in
the wind
and
no longer watered
hanging baskets
become
leftover
summer caskets
you're still here:

you, with your never-ending arc of abundance;

making every season,

making every year.

Just one more time come around sun
and bring the warm easy
like you always do,
your rescinding shine
has in it all of you;
being the days you were.

You unforcefully cram
your particles
into every time
of loveliness,
seldom rocked
by
the
tick
tock;
minutes are just moments
that bring
all
your
joy.

Oh my:
I just accidentally phoned
my Mum
when I attempted to call my drunken mate a cab,
how fab!

Mum, I try not to be aware of the seconds when you won't be here anymore (and when that happens surely the world will stop and pause, and then applause your wonderful tour de force).

I'm happy that the mistake ring
gave me extra moments of the life you bring.

Happy Mother's Day you ace...

It would be amazing if I got three wishes,
firstly I'd give all the hungry lots of food dishes,
then I'd ask for 100 trillion and distribute joy to myself & tons of other folk,
so there was happy in all that they spoke,
and causes of sadness wouldn't be anymore,
that's the first two chosen easy but when it gets to the third I'm not very sure.
I don't need to wish for charisma, I've got plenty of that,
I don't need to ask for head warmth in winter as I've got tons of great hats,
don't need to ask for a feline, I know Poppet the cat,
don't need to ask for higher tolerance to *****, I know my way around a bottle of ***,
and certainly wouldn't want to ask for another Mum...

As I love the way that at a 100 miles an hour you often speak,
and when you go out a Weatherspoon's burger is high on you list of what to eat,
I love the way that if someone was thirsty you'd always offer a cup,
and if another was hurting you'd give a hand to help them up,
I love how your empathy is abundant and everywhere,
I love how with your kindness you always show care,
I love how you surprised me with a Super Nes on Christmas 92,
I love how you'd try to raise a smile in those that have few,
I love how you accept people just the way they are,
I love how in an ocean of light they still could find your star.

So I still need to work on the third wish, that is true
but always always always Mum, I love you!

There is a lineage that flows
down the years,
when on the street you wish new people "all the best" cheers,
it happened before,
and will do again,
whether your steps are faint
or three score and ten.

It's a hum of the ancient,
a dropping of time,
an impromtu greeting
is totally fine;

the hold of wonder,
a hug from a space,

just for a moment

all

in one place.

Some fabulous hugs

haven't happened

for a while,

cuddles left in the cupboard

no word
heard
from smile.

But like anything that has a destination of nowhere
there's always a glimmer of wonderful that stops the rot;

the saying of hope
starting to trot.

After fierce rain
the sun appears,
and makes a seemingly engrained deluge instantly forgettable;

that's what you do too:

your welcoming soothes the soaked in from the storm;

all your smile and suddenly

everything's warm.

Right now,
as you lay warm and blessed,
your possibities are endeless:

You could be a ballerina who discovers a fresh science of soar,
you could be a globetrotter who finds a new meaning of tour,
you could be a plumber who invents a tap,
you could be the voice that makes all your friends' clap,
you could be a hair dresser who is known for her perm,
you could adore reading and be a book worm,
you could be athletic and win at sports,
you could be the lawyer who wows all the courts.

But now is not the time for possibilty,
only certainty:

the certainty that the two people you see the most shine on you with all of love's beam,

and think you are the best
they have ever seen.

Although I love summer
and would happily spend
eternity
under it's clear
azure skies
I prefer the blue
that's in
your eyes.
They make me as warm
as a full flush
of
spectacular bright;
you make my days fantastic,
never let me out of your sight.

I remember us sat looking at Manga cartoons like it was yesterday. But now?
She's gone away.
And I'm just a ghost
in a shell.

When I watch Akira I still hear her.

And,

the fading sound,

of
our era.

So I wake up & think,
"Ohh, a message on Whatsapp,
I'll check that baby later,
for that nourish I will cater,
hmm outside it looks mild,
take your time Si, punctuality is the last reserve of the boring, said Oscar Wilde.
But you don't want to get the "where have you been" glare & the "I've been sat here for ages" stare."
So I gather my sleepy head with all my power,
get my work game on & hit the shower.
As I cleanse my skin layer by layer I ponder,
"hmm, have I got enough juice in my MP3 player to see me through on the 192?"
I scrub quickly in a ******* sigh,
"oh oh oh fuckkkkk! Si, you've got shower gel in your eye!"
All my thoughts of enough walking music to hurl me up the road are lost in my optic feeling like it's going to explode.
"It hurts! It hurts! ******* vanilla & raspberry,
is the cyclopitic pain really necessary?".
I now don't have time for thoughts of on time hurry
if I'm going blind or not is now my greatest worry.
The stupid anxieties vanish
in minutes of strife,
like they do in real life,
I don't think I'll care that I haven't budgeted for pre payday weekend beer if I get a call saying
you're not here,
& from what I know you disappear.
Not to dwell on what grief does loom,
you & me right now sail through the future gloom;
you're the best of the best
never stop,
I love you
I love you
I love you lots.
This soapy grip on my eye starts to ease,
anxious not
in the July breeze.

I miss you,
you don't
exist,
anymore:
street signs disappear,
the road smooth,
and
bump less,
and then nothing.

Leaves stay on trees
throughout every season,
and forms
and rules
meld
into
one crying pattern
of loss:
please come back,
I miss you.

I love you.
Today has been magnificent,
we saw the span of us:
the differences, trials
and
tribulations
but also the love that led to standing at rainy train stations,
waiting to be carried into arms
that with their touch
allow our world to become one present moment of comforting joy,
where all is right,
and
full of bright.
I love you.

Everytime
I walk past the window
where you were
I begin to wave,
but as I start the hello motion I remember
you're not there anymore,
just a empty seat
behind a full green door.
Oh Roy.
But at least there are still sinews
that move
in anticipation of you,
and muscles connected to bone
acknowledge
the space you left.
Now everytime I walk past your window and raise a hi
it's mixed with the love
of goodbye.

Today you look office sick,

Staying still in your swivel chair,

Turning white and pale in printed air,

Your secret dreams

You discarded,

You confidential waste,

Its never fair to feel this tired,

Alone and out of place.



So for one night lets go dancing

On those sticky floors,

Returning all the smiles,

Holding all the doors,

Cos in these hours we will make it

We’ll be far away from here,

We will never fall asleep,

We’ll never feel their fear.



The hours that your spending,

Not knowing how to pass the time,

Drawing the curtains on the sun

And never betting on the blinds,

You start looking lost down a one way street,

Forgetting how to how to laugh with love

Or what ghost to meet.



So for one night lets go dancing

On those sticky floors,

Catching all the eyes,

Opening all the doors,

Cos in these hours we will make it

We’ll be far away from here,

We will never fall asleep,

                        We’ll never feel their fear.



(Money’s a necessity, this sweet splendour’s free)



So for one night lets go dancing

On those sticky floors,

Catching all the eyes,

Opening all the doors,

In these hours we will make it

We’ll be far away from here,

We will never fall asleep,

                        We’ll never feel their fear.

Prosecco echo -
On that day we had fun,
drank
and ran
with everyone;
now just fading silhouettes
making the most of the sky,
but never too tired to raise a glass to
goodbye.

It's not the length of the queue, it's the getting to the front in the end,
it's not the muddled blocks
it's the syncronicity of friends,
it's not the missed bus,
it's the one in the nick o' time,
it's not the clapperless bell,
it's the one with splendid chime.
It's not the laughter gone, or the last spilt drink,
it's the happy of the moment in the ones we sink;
it's not the toast that falls face down, it's the one that lands sunny side up,
it's not the day you lost, it's the day you won the cup.

There are things supposed to be on the list
to ease the journey through isolation's mist;

toilet roll,

milk,

bread,

and a assortment of crisps.

They are all secondary though,
just as long you are there with your dazzling smile and wonder it feels fine to lock all the doors and fasten the latches;
just us with splendid
as we batten down the hatches.

As we are us,
into collide;
two engines
ready for
the stars.

Last 25th you were all life
and your voice mirrored the bells at the start of the day;
ringing with joy
and hope,
so it's only natural you'll be missed in these hours:
no you heard
in a multitude of sound,
a million plates laid at the table and still
everyone asks
where you are;
a billion lights search for a star.
Yes, you left quite the impression,
as if anything else possible;
and we'll always remember you,
always raise you in a cheer,
especially at
this
time
of year.

On a Wednesday morn at work I was after food,
so I said to my manager, "I'm off for a break dude!"
I walked out of the employment building and thought, "I can't wait to eat,
my stomach's proper churning and my belly wants a treat."
I bounded to the shop
with the I'm starving hop.
When I got there I grabbed some peanut butter, crisps and bread
and glistened with the fact that I was soon to be fed,
I went to the woman at the counter and remarked, "Hi! Hope you're well, can I have this please?"
She replied, "Course you can!" I felt my famish ease.
She rang it all through and commented, "That will be £3.63!"
I went, "Sweet, just let me get the fee!"
But when I reached in my satchel for my wallet I did a ohhh ****, ****, ****,
I've ******* left it in work!
So I said to the woman, "Oh ****, I've not got the moolah on me (I felt a right ****),
can you just put it to one side and I'll be back in a bit?"
She riposted, "Ahh, don't worry about it, for your forgetfullness I'll cater,
just take the goods and bring the cash in later!"
I was like, "Are you sure? Wow, that's real swell,
awesome awesome, to you all of well!"
I left Sainsburys feeling the goodness in life flow,
and then I spotted this lovely crow!
It was on top of a discarded receptacle that once held a Mac D's
and the remnants of the scoff it was trying to seize,
I got my phone out and went, "Ohh, this ace bird attempting in it's gob sustenance to flick
will make a really mint pic!",
but it was a windy time and the paper holder went out of the crow's reach,
from her grasp and blew up the street.
I felt crestfallen for the winged thing, my being started to lag,
until I remembered what I had in my bag!
I tore open the bread and broke it into tiny parts and said, "Here you go mate, I know that other foodie you did miss
but have some of this!"
And then it occured to me that if someone hadn't gave me the stuff I wouldn't have been able to do that;
I felt the warm in the universe, I heard a joyful clap,
because kindness reciprocates wherever it is found,
from person to person to bird, from the top to the ground,
and when I looked back and watched the crow nibble on the bread before it flew away,
I realised this was turning into a wonderful beautiful day!
(P.S. I went back and paid the woman a hour later!)

Last summer
the fields near your house
were covered in butterflies
from the sky
to
the floor,
as the flutter of my excitment was
at your door.

Things start in different ways,
sometimes soft and faint
hardly rippling
still
but
gentle
with glorious intent.
Or, instantly sudden,
sodden in anew,
caught in the unstoppable
thrall
of quickening season,
fast and swift
with love the reason.

Holding our us is like being in a wonderful clearing that knows fantastic talking hearing,

and,

no contemplation of

division,

as every decision is flowing with the see of 20/20 vision;

senses heightened with perfect precision.

You do look a little bit older
than you used to

these days;

your youthful visage
a tad thumbed by turning many page:

but despite the so called age process
you still simply merry everything with the fantastic of elan:
oh what a guy,
oh, what a man!

When you sit & nonchalantly beam
it is such an enchanted scene;
oh you,
you'd turn a grey sky walk into a sunshine mile,
with your here,
with your smile.

Don't let
season skipping signs that say
it's autumn
deter your warm from being here,
you always very welcome
what's left
of the summer
of this year.

When you get off a train I'm happy,
that's because it usually means you're a step closer to me;
your near proximity improves my all,
my string theory
and my ABC.
Just your foot on a platform means I understand more of the air,
as you're a further tad towards me,
making the best of my everywhere.

When I throw
a nasty little thing like ego out
by my invouluntary
fingers
I worry people
just think I'm making
crazy hand shapes
in the air;
Nar,
these fantastic digits carry care.

Today,
on paper,
we've toured
a football ground,
but that description
neglects our fantastic found
displayed
in
leaping bound;
it's whenever I'm with you Dad,
it's whenever you're around.

You unforcefully cram
your particles
into every time
of loveliness,
seldom rocked
by
the
tick
tock;
minutes are just moments
that bring
all
your
joy.

We said a big farewell to you
on a sunny day,

it was sad but perfect
in nearly every single way,

inevitably the only thing  missing under the clear sky of blue

was the world you held

in all of amazing you.

Auntie Viv,
vividly
you’ll always be.

You rumble gently,
slightly shifting
what was ground,
my feet on it, next to yours,
we tour debris of before,
no looking down at dust,
detritus, not now, not for us,
no time at this time,
for us.

So I wake up & think,
"Ohh, a message on Whatsapp,
I'll check that baby later,
for that nourish I will cater,
hmm outside it looks mild,
take your time Si, punctuality is the last reserve of the boring, said Oscar Wilde.
But you don't want to get the "where have you been" glare & the "I've been sat here for ages" stare."
So I gather my sleepy head with all my power,
get my work game on & hit the shower.
As I cleanse my skin layer by layer I ponder,
"hmm, have I got enough juice in my MP3 player to see me through on the 192?"
I scrub quickly in a ******* sigh,
"oh oh oh fuckkkkk! Si, you've got shower gel in your eye!"
All my thoughts of enough walking music to hurl me up the road are lost in my optic feeling like it's going to explode.
"It hurts! It hurts! ******* vanilla & raspberry,
is the cyclopitic pain really necessary?".
I now don't have time for thoughts of on time hurry
if I'm going blind or not is now my greatest worry.
The stupid anxieties vanish
in minutes of strife,
like they do in real life,
I don't think I'll care that I haven't budgeted for pre payday weekend beer if I get a call saying
you're not here,
& from what I know you disappear.
Not to dwell on what grief does loom,
you & me right now sail through the future gloom;
you're the best of the best
never stop,
I love you
I love you
I love you lots.
This soapy grip on my eye starts to ease,
anxious not
in the July breeze.

You can pop in a lot
of months,
before
you're here
or after
you've gone,
like a sunny sky day in April
or
a leaf full floor autumn one,
but when you are wide and bright,
on the cusp of schools breaking up
and July imminent,
your shine
is not
a hint or a trace;
it's all of your blue
right up to space.

Hours of moving around
and flitting
between
different spaces
always feels good,
things fall into place
as they should,
but lying next to you,
still,
means not a crave
for anything else,
as your wonderful self
is enough to bring a day
that's simply bright;
the close join of our eyes
making all of sight.

Many moons away there was a lovely town,
where the people were happy and knew no frowns,
where the lambs gambolled in the fields free and safe from the dining table
and everybody was always recused at the end of every fireside fable,
the dawn was always singing and the days with joy were packed,
no one needed anything, there was nothing that they lacked,
yes all the folk loved the town, “it’s the best!” they would say,
that is until one dark fateful June day.
A monster appeared at the gates of the town one morn
and remarked calmly…”parents you will give up to me all of your first born,
and if you fail to comply with my demands
I’ll take all your children and raze to the floor all your lands!”
As a demonstration of his monstrous strength
he decimated the animals in the village and removed one tenth.
The monster then said, “you have 3 days to sate my wishes
otherwise all your children will be my dishes!”
Understandably the town was in a uproar of fears
and all you could hear was weeping and tons of floods of tears.
The town’s war council met and discussed what to they should do
and soon decided that their chances of defeating the beast were too few,
they realised that their best recourse was to contact a neighbouring village
as they knew of a hero there who could perhaps stop this awful pillage,
so they sent an envoy to implore the hero to come and vanquish the monster to the Hell he came from,
the name of this heroic guy well it was Simon!
Simon was a handsome chap who had saved many places from strife
and all the people around trusted this great guy with their life,
for sweet Simon was altruistic, charming, charismatic and kind
and when others needed a hero he was the first one on their mind,
and of course when the town asked him to help and slay the terrible beast
he immediately packed up his sword and arrows and headed to the creature’s lair in The East.
Simon had a fair walk before he could find and take on this awful malaise
and filled his time on the jaunt steeling himself and perfecting his warrior’s gaze,
his journey was uneventful and Simon found he had plenty of time for a think and  a mull,
that was until sauntering just in front of him he spied someone beautiful;
just on the path yonder he could see a women with stupendous colour in her hair
and she moved with gorgeous splendour through the air,
Simon shouted, “excuse me, hi, how’s it going?
you have an aura of magnificence and you I wish to be knowing!”
The hot woman replied, “hello, my name’s Hazel, thank you for your nice say,
perhaps you could walk with me if you’re going my way!”
Simon returned with, “yeah that would be grand but the way I’m going is gonna be fraught with danger
as I’m about to take on a monster that wants to take children from their mangers!”
Hazel said, “oh that’s where I’m headed too, I’m a witch don’t you know,
and with my magick power I’m going to make this monster wish his face he did not show!”
Simon riposted with, “wow it’s awesome that we are both singing from the same hymn sheet
maybe we should join forces to ensure this monster is truly knocked off his feet!”
Hazel said, “yep that sounds ace to me!”
and off they both did go feeling full of glee!
And as Simon and Hazel talked there was more then just hero talk that did abound
they both felt a surge of lust that swirled all around,
so within one hour of meeting they were ******* in a field,
to the pleasures of each other’s flesh they did easily yield,
there was a strong connection that leaped through bodies
and they both knew right then they would have to make knowing each other one of their hobbies!
Due to their powerful union the monster was easily gone,
Simon and Hazels joint strength got rid of the beast with aplomb,
after the simple fight they felt a wonderful bliss
and sealed their fantastic win with a passionate kiss.
They arrived back at the town and told the folk their worries were over
and that everyone could play without scare  in meadows of four leaf clover,
the town’s people said “thank you, from now on June the 7th will be know as Hazel and Simon day!”
S and H hand in hand replied, “that’s funny that’s just what we were about to say!”