My story is without repent
The green of new growth
Puts joy in my otherwise
Dead soul .
The dandelion that serves
Our servants, gets cuts down with haste
It serves us well
Hopefully no ****** beds .

The smell of fresh cut grass sure is nice .
But the  little fellows , the beasties are our rice , no lovely coloured trouperdour , with silver rizla thin wings  ,

Lost souls that we still have to celebrate
Never forgotten,  there waiting in the fly like wings , the curtain open , your with us again

The ***** matter like stepping stones , could be the bairns , the dug or the cat next door,  **** oot working for her first fix , the bairns be fine , there's 3 day auld milk in the fridge . The trick is done the medicine scored , heat up her spoon , slowly dissolved, that brown rush oh powder now makes her feel norm , the endless task only start of the day , she loves her kids really but the kit that she craves , trying her best wondering how she ended up this  way

Iook from my window at nothing much , the widow that passes with her tartan trolley is a daily acurence,  her face mostly the same until she returns,  

The ten o'clock people pass in a rush needing there fix well ***** buzz . The empty soul that walks by , no one nos his story seemingly just shy .

The rain falls but thats outside , i look from my Windows am safe in here watching life go by  ,
The widow returns she is now wet and not dry ,her trolley not as full now with no partner a tear in her eye

******
Emotionally
Emotionally
******

I am so lonely
Yet
I
Can't
Be
******
With
Company