Barefoot, across the flags
On to the dry grass, on to the damp grass
The days of the blue skies
Of one long hopeful summer
No need to go in search of anywhere
Anymore to storm
Or float to earth in a pink silk parachute
Which love would call her own
This is my morning
Children in blue on the way to school
Mothers with push chairs yawning
Window cleaners and Spanish guys
Blue jeans, silk pressed shirts
Looks, what the girls would die by
Back home; from the city, the suburb, the roar
Return to the sun, the beach and the bird song
The dusty dry alleyways and juggernauts
Somewhere left, some way far and downalong
Time
To comb my fine auburn hair
Read a magazine, unfair or rare
Far more than ever you could have hoped for
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