To the next one to love her,
some unsolicited advice:

   1. I may be the first,
       but I will not be the last.

   2. She deserves more than
       she says, and you need
       to know that.

          I built my home in her heart
          and that was my mistake.
          My world shook with every
          sip she took, and the roof
          wasn’t enough to shelter me.

   3. Be strong and be brave.

          She will love you like lightning,
          so don’t be afraid of the rain.

  Lastly,
   Be hopeful and be kind.

          What comes next is better
          than sunshine in Seattle.


I wish you the best.

You are standing
on a great, grassy
field as far as your eyes
can see. The ground
is firm, there is a peaceful
wind in the air
gently rustling your hair.
This is not what you expected.
You had anticipated
explosions, yelling,
a thud on the wall
that sounds like someone's
skull is being hit by
the house phone!
But no,
the field is
the serene place,
the confinement
that is childhood.
It is an illusion.
It never existed.

We're weary and wet,
trowelling through the muck,
looking for ancient bones,
cold as skeletons.

The earth gives up its ***** old men,
bequeathing their remains -
bog people, trog people,
pongy gaping gob people -
most likely Angles and Saxons.

At least they have their own ***** old women,
and don't try to rattle our women's bones.

Meandering, staggering, the squelch of fun
I cross the field of dreams 
To step off the world, just for a while 
Is all one needs it seems 

You captured my heart, I cannot explain 
What you do to me 
The world outside, a thing of the past 
I'm wrapped in a bubble of glee 

You're good for the soul but that's not all
You take my troubles away 
And if I could, no matter how I ache 
A few more days I'd stay 

But a few more days is never enough 
I never want to leave 
My heart, forever in your mud 
The real world you reprieve 

And as all the years go by 
I never do forget 
All of the joy you give to me 
And I ain't seen nothin yet

I hope there's a music playing
To dance along, in this farm yard
I wish everyday was peaceful, wavy
Like the breeze is the choreographer
The lengthy plants dance along
And confess, we will heal your pain
Just look at us, how happy we are
This evening will cherish my mind
By these dancers in the field, so green

I must feel the vastness inside me
Coz everything I worry, has vanished
I feel no more remorse, wasting time-
Here, I could fling into this lovely view
She gets the goosebumps everytime
The wind fondles on her belly, so soft
Must admit the show was enchanting

Normal is over rated,
              that's walking with the herd....

I'm no sheep of woolly needs
             I walk a field of individuality...

I feed on truth on the evidence that feeds knowledge,
              I'll never be a sheep that follows a herd....

He had no insight into the mysteries
Of the gilded sports
Of the British social elite,
By the time he arrived at his beloved college,
Long, long ago in a long-forgotten England,

And in later years, when he looked back at his beloved college,
He'd insist if he possessed a single quality
That might be termed noble
He owed it to his education,
And not least the four years he spent there,

And there’d be times when certain pieces
Of quintessentially English pastoral music
Still had the power to evoke his strange and sudden flight,
While seeming to him to bespeak a passion
For the Arcadian soul of England that verged on the ecstatic,

And others when he’d dream of a day
He might return to the scene of his flight as if in atonement,
And commune with the soul of his beloved England,
With a passion verging on the ecstatic,
And then put the memory to rest for all time,

For he absconded once...just the once it was...
To avoid being chastised for something foolish he did,
And he finished up wandering, forlornly wandering,
His boots freshly caked with the purest English soil,
Long, long ago in a forgotten field in England.