Number 11 Bus

                                             

                 From the top of the bus I could see the dancing and music that night.

                 This is how I remember it though I know this picture's not right.

                  In my first year as a teenager I was wanting but not knowing of what?

                  Sitting on the bus in traffic through a window this image I got.

                  In the youth club they were dancing and it spilled out the street.

                  They whirled and twirled as he held her, Oh to have been him on that night.

                  So in my mind's eye I have changed it from that street to a Parisian night.

                  With a jazz band playing hot numbers with the type of girls that I liked.....

                   

1880-----1963

                   

 

Bird in Hand

                                           

          As the man makes a stool for the cellar-man,

          As the tide erodes a cliff,

          As footsteps are lost on a sandy beach,

          With dewdrops on gossamer webs. 

          As sand runs through an hourglass,

          And youth takes the bitter with the sweet,

          With a promise of love and stolen days,

          But it's all a trick not a treat.

          Time is killing them slowly,

          The days have not lingered on,

          Old age takes the bitter with the sour,

          No grains are left, the hour gone,

          The dews dried up, the webs are dashed,

          The wind reveals fossil prints,

           The cliff has gone and left not a hint,

           The stools in the bar,  but the cellar-man  ain't........