Our love has wilted
like the blanching wind
Although its not the revile
in the morning
its about your tears
and how you wish
away tomorrow
When today is the stet

Its not the banjo
that plays occasionally
Its the truth blowing precariously

The branches learn to bend
We took the side road to Bexhill
We saw the flames of our love dissipate
that  early spring

I was raised in sea of defiance
and yet my Zephyr  has lost its accord
I have retained all colour
I am lost in a rattled cage
and ageing fast

Speaking in tounges
I have seen your everyday jamboree
Although the seasons were roughshod
did we not heed too

Shes a huntress
least that offend you
I  have a fictional  affair
with my cat
All she wants is love and warmth
Her eyes follow me
her paws entangle my hands
The elixir of her dighty breath
She not outstare me
She knows my moods
although I can never second guess hers
She ages with dignity
I indulge her with my feelings
Her countenance  knows withstanding