Sunday 26 January 2014

She is Gone . . .

As I talk now, steam billows from my mouth
It’s cold out here, mist shimmers in the tender morning sun
Wish I could see the mountains, far off, the azure horizons of my dreams
Wish I could cross the yard, hobble into the living room of her heart

But she is gone away, far away
To the land where Eiffel Towers stands akimbo
Where francs buy candies
Where goodnight is bonuit
Where Napoleon is a hero, not a beer
Where Zidane is a football legend

Thought she would be here
Like her name, to carol for me when Christmas comes
For when the strong December winds,
Would gather and rumble in the trees around our tenement
And swirl dust in our eyes as we washed clothed at the outside common sink
I would look into her strong, soft eyes,
So loaded with a thousand, thousand rainbows
And I would sit on my feelings no more
O that she wasn’t actually gone
O that this were just but a dream!



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