"I should like to write of many things"
Of Wonderlands, and secret spots, or spice and seasonings.
To rhyme, not reason, seems so fair,
As we watch 'neath a roséd air.
Clouds and emeralds - silk skin bare -
Before the dinner-gong rings.

Ginger-beer and idle eyes, I sit and do not idolise
I merely think, twig-riddled hair; climb trees despite their size.
Of mauve-topped crimson fields of wind,
We sit and smile at thorny kin,
As kisses linger on pre-bared skin,
Soft songs to sweeten cries.

Cry shall I not, 'tis dead and chained
And forget I shall of glum refrain:
Upon a time when Moon swept down
And touched her lips upon the ground
I wait for them upon my brow -
And dance, in freezing rain.

But Summer comes, and know not I
What shall I do to pass the time?
But sit and gently fantasise
Of Sun and paper-coloured skies
Paint-pots and moleskins be my guide,
As I wait for Love's faint chimes.