"I love you as much as
a couple of fried eggs love soy sauce,"
(alfresco in this mild breeze,
yew trees shaking their dark locks)
the youngest daughter of moody
old King Lear might have said, cordially,
exhibiting that wisdom
of such little girls with which
men all have much more in common
than they like to let on,
macho men of mountains,
gutty men of beer,
guessed from little sisters then
rediscovered in daughters.
But as for you and I,
now both our days are out of kilter
for a while, me breakfasting
in the afternoon, you downing wine
these early hours,
safe and Skype sound.
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
PoetryIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
