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It is getting cooler
From the cold of yesterweek.
Will I sleep to get no older
While to your bed you creep.
The evening sky is painted
So much beauty there to see.
Yet I am bleached
To blues and dread
to close my eyes on me.
We have a fire that warms
But not much left to burn
Now the huddle and the cuddle
What lesson is this to learn?
We grace the arches briefly
Beneath your bridge are we
To wait the light
Hold on to life
Or gain our liberty.
JohnR December 2005
(Still fiddling)
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