Fish is back on friday,
a gentle nudge
Swan
Like the swan in the morning
On the lake’s rippled calm
Her song took my silence
And held me from harm.
She stooped to my yearning
As the moon kisses night
While the flowers of the forest
Turn their heads to her flight.
She left me to sorrow
And the cold and the dark
Yet each day I hear her
In the call of the lark.
Oh come you my darling
And cast your white shawl
On the pain and the sadness
Which we lovers recall.
JL 2008
She moved through the fair
An inspiration
The hairdressers today. I hate mirrors.
Outside my window an horrendous shower to impress Noah. Sloping or rather slopping along, came one small boy over his ankles in the gutter kicking water to the sky. What larks, and look what happened to me mum.
On the grape vine murder in St Annes
by the church not true a sex assault
The hairdressers today. I hate mirrors.
Outside my window an horrendous shower to impress Noah. Sloping or rather slopping along, came one small boy over his ankles in the gutter kicking water to the sky. What larks, and look what happened to me mum.
On the grape vine murder in St Annes
by the church not true a sex assault
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