November 1, 2014

 

 

They never knew

what others saw,

when he was young

and against the law,

 

and stealing with

his mucky paw,

and locked up as

the final straw.

 

They never knew

what stuff he did,

whilst charging about

with a dustbin lid.

 

They ran like hell,

I swear they did;

their marbles rolling

down the grid.

 

They never knew

what he got up to.

For whilst ‘doing time’,

those ways he outgrew.

 

He learnt his lesson,

and started life anew,

and his just reward,

was finding you.

 

They never knew,

and it’s best kept that way.

The past is dead,

and a forgotten day.

 

 

 

 

When we were young

and time was free,

you made a

daisy chain for me.

 

And plucked fresh bluebells

from the wood,

dressed in a cape,

with a matching hood.

 

 

 

 

And guiding muddy

footsteps laid at noon,

that would have been

the only night-time compass,

lit by a crescent moon,

will disappear, unless that

by a blessing, comes a frost,

and keeps intact a trail,

that now seems all but lost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love it when

we read in bed,

and our bodies

intertwine,

into a snugly world

that’s exclusively

yours and mine.

 

I love your arm

across me,

as I go to sleep.

What would I do

without you?

Into the future

I dare not peep.

 

I love it when

we wake up;

it’s you and me

against the clock.

Our time is now,

so let’s enjoy it:

Did you find your

missing sock?

 

 

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