Tulips stand in silent watch over flora entombed in winter, waiting for springs gaudy hues, pinks, purple, yellows, and blues. Winter Jasmine blooms soon go but tulip petals defy the frost but all too soon they're lost.
This tulip is made to last come summer heat or winter's blast, when leaves do fall in wintry weather and the summer birds have fled. This tulip will stay for winter just because it's made from lead.........
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.....
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........
I remember the early morning mist in the city riding a bike over the streets of cobbles.
The sun burns away the haze, no cars, just people walking quietly to fulfil their monotonous days.
That was long ago, now things have altered, the cobbles have gone, cars are here, and people
hurry on.
The morning mist is soft and quiet like a painting that Hopper might do.
It takes me back to memories of autumn days and idle thoughts of you.
Music runs through my head like the soundtrack to my life, I retrace the lost footsteps of my
youth, listening for the sound of your voice.
The passed is like a long-dead stranger whispering in my ear, telling me thing I already know,
things I don't need to hear.................
Them
We left them in their boxes, we left them at the grave our Grannies and Grandads with all their yesterdays. But we were young and didn't care we had our lives to live, so to their wakes we did go too talk of things they did, their golden age their Camelot but all too soon......... They're all forgot.
Me
It's my turn now, I see the look from Nephews and Nieces. They see me go walking slow with shallow breath and wheezes. I know one day without a care they'll leave me in my coffin, and off they'll trot to reminisce of all my ways and teases. But as times rolls on they'll remember me...But not so very often.
You
But soon, "Time that creeps in this petty pace" will tap you on your shoulder, your nearest and dearest will see you're looking older. Family members and acquaintances will stand around your casket, and off they go to talk and laugh at the ways you once enchanted. But they are young without a care and have their lives to live. And off they'll go and you will also be forgotten........
So it was them yesterday, me today, and you tomorrow. And we'll all together in this "Land of lost content". Where bones aren't stiff, flesh not feeble and nothing to lament. Throw away your walking sticks for here we have no scars. I'll be with all my family, and I'll dance among the stars........
Them yesterday, Me today, You tomorrow............
