The in between years
The in between years
The un-handed mallet, laying without consience.
The smiling, changing expression of freinds past, in defiance.
The moment, sinking amongst dead feathers,
the call of the clock stagnant, without any treasures.
Amongst the rustling mildew leaves a bird, black, yellow beaked !
That smile , i knew, in the dark times,
leaden, in hours oh so bleak.
What of those years then in quilted calm,
mingled in loops of ropes safe from harm.
What of those back broken strokes of sin,
mixed by a guilt pricked pin.
Ah, those years of in between !
You, and Me, and a visited Queen.
Ah those days , those fleeting away,
I miss you more, and more, each day.
Copyright ©
John Lusardi
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