Wednesday, May 16, 2012



Tear;its grip on the cheeks
Is fast finding it hard to sustain....
For all the mental grips on techniques
leaves yet much to attain.....
The patent rights to self pity
I leave to you Madam Statue;
Of the lucrative gardens of the world
I walk away from lush green grass
Leaving the leaves of autumn scattered as gold
For the heart is off in search of the sea bass......