A special world
A special world for you and me
A special bond one cannot see
It wraps us up in its cocoon
And holds us fiercely in its womb.
Its fingers spread like fine spun gold
Gently nestling us to the fold
Like silken thread it holds us fast
Bonds like this are meant to last.
And though at times a thread may break
A new one forms in its wake
To bind us closer and keep us strong
In a special world, where we belong.
What love is
The happy or the bored
may ask what love is
but it doesn’t have descriptiveness.
Its qualities are wordless.
You feel it secretly and slowly.
It’s there and you don’t realise
it’s living in your heart.
A flower may be plucked,
a pearl or cloth of gold
be snatched and fought over.
The tears I cry
The tears I cry
I try to hide
I try to stop them
Escaping outside.
The tears I cry
Just won’t go away
It’s like i’m cursed
‘Til the end of my days.
Elegy to lost youth
Oh sweet wife, your comfort’s dead –
can’t even raise his wrinkled head,
who was rampant night and day:
a stallion eager for the fray.
Alas! alack! O woe is me!
My mount is useless, as you see.
He who stood proud and erect
now can’t command the least respect.
Why I need to love you
Because I chose to love you
And I chose to woo you
And I chose to kiss you –
That’s why.
And I chose to lose you
And I chose to search for you
And I finally found you –
That’s why.
Because again I loved you
And again I wooed you
And again I kissed you –
That’s why.
And I lost you as a girl
And I sought you as a girl
And I found no girl –
That’s why.
What love is
The happy or the bored
may ask what love is –
but it doesn’t have descriptiveness.
Its qualities are wordless.
You feel it secretly and slowly.
It’s there and you don’t realise
it’s living in your heart.
A flower may be plucked,
a pearl or cloth of gold
be snatched and fought over.
Where the Sidewalk Ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
