No Hint of An End
These words have no
Beginning but they
Bounce and echo loud
Around the labyrinths
Of the same shell
They were first
Imprisoned in long ago
Fine words They are too...
And when Whispered soft
Might be mistaken
For the sea and wind
Mouthing and teasing
Her wild golden
Finger combed hair
Brushed back and yes
Still damp and salty...
My lady once lived
For such poetry
Yet she would lay there
Hardly breathing
Just in case the spell
Got broken
Then on waking fully
She would look up and see
Through a perfect Ken Simm sky...
Twas then he felt her kiss
South of the nape
His neck did cry
And she did crave
Gentle as the downward
Thrust of lichen green
Lacewings wings
Passing them by
There in the cove of their
Safe and secret harbour...
Yes indeed for
That is where words
Such as these
Go round and round
With not a single
Hint of beginning
No sure sign of a middle
And no
No certain trace of an end even....