I can smell it, I can taste it, I also have visions of it,
A place where I used to touch, where I saw real smiles,
Without the boundary of a two trolley’s length, a windowpane,
Or a computer screen, that sometimes glitched your beauty,
A place where I toasted all things worthy and silly,
With like-minded people who never ceased with their jollity,
Even when times became blackened by life’s cruel design,
A place where I ate like a King, though sadly I was alone,
Due to Eros’ arrow not aimed at me, or at someone
Who deemed me lovable, but still I gorged patiently,
A place where I rattled those skins and tickled those ivories,
To everyone’s delight, and also, shared pages of my insight,
Be them rude words, or profound, they were well received,
A place where I mostly drank alone, to both relax, and to
Refill some much-needed pathos, to balance my expectations,
To not have them too high, though sometimes they reached for the sky,
A place where I rambled without restriction, either it by the roadside,
Or around eighteen, where I tried to score low, but many mulligans
I had to take, but at least I was one with nature, far from the noise,
Though a beautiful scene I have painted, I want it to remain,
No, I need it to remain, or perhaps it could improve?...
Anyway, Mr Johnson and friends, I hear you may be loosening,
The leash that has been around us, but I need to be sure,
Will my scene be intact? Are you sure, that your scene will be intact?
My inner child so wants to run right around the corner,
But the above question still stands, will all of our scenes be intact?