I have a gift of one

To be alone with sounds

A blackbird sing

I know it’s Spring

From an octave above

A thrush sends his love

And the Robin

Sings me home

The flower comes in May

And every day

I come and see

The pathway to eternity

Why should I inhale sadness

For every year it happens

In times of happiness

And times of maddness

The world regains it’s strength

From the brown black leaves

Accumulated and Abandoned

There were no flowers

No tears

On their going

But joy

And happiness

On their resurrection.

A GOOD DEED

ACCOMPANIED BY AN INVOICE

IS A BAD DEED

Robin Robin on a tree

Won’t you stop and sing for me

Not of blackbird or of crow

But the little tune we know

And nothing has changed

The primrose still grows and all is well

The boys sitting in front of me

At Primary Class

I was mesmerised

By the MIDGETS

Jumping from boy to boy

A Circus of performing midgets

I could see them running dancing

Excitedly jumping up and down

Happy to rest in a boy’s hair

Every Saturday I knelt in front of my mother

My head on her lap

In her white blanket

Her fine comb

Dragging through my hair

As a farmer rakes the hay

She picked them one by one

And executed each with her nail

I could hear the thud of death

And we were free of lice

For another week.