I love.

I love
Who I love
What I love
Not for love
But for love.
And thus I love
Too much love
Only love
And you.

The Gypsy Girl.

She drank beneath my yellow branches
The gypsy girl in a drunken spree
The world alas had a drunken lover
Who made a secret pact with me.

She had a little pot like belly
Her skin was blue as she could be
Her eyes were misty in the morning
And yellow in the evening sea.

She lay there like a broken bird
She smelled like a forsaken bee
The ale in her mind could work out wonders
And perhaps she dreamt about me.

Who did not rhyme by their good names
Who did not come by me to plea?
The world always forgot the drunken child
Who had one and none to reap.



And then a fire had raged amongst the heaven
And all the brave men did flee
Forgotten we were when death kissed her
The earth had stood still by me.


And if you ever come around
To seek my yellow branch and knee
You will find the forgotten ashen bones
Of a drunken gypsy-girl,
Neighbouring me.

The Bee Wife

Once upon a time
In my raggedy little room
Came a little bee
And she rested upon my knee.
Yellow she was-
The colour of the sun.




But as old men warn
About sparks in a barn
About beauty that weep
And feelings of a creep..

So I heard their chorus in my sleep

‘’Must we not fear little things
That swings and stings?’’

My brain stood aside
It wanted a stride
To crush the little bee
A flowers glee
Forever into that sullen sea.

But my heart forbade my grey friend
It beat,
 ‘Let her be. Let her be.’

So the story goes

As you see
That men like me
Like owning things
Living things
For no fee.


‘Pet’- Said my dear friend
In a tempest fury.

‘Hell No!’ I said

Wife she is to me.



And so I sinned
Until she stung
And died upon my hairy knee.