The calm
Of St Marys
Is not the surf
Of Sennen Cove
The peace
That lasts
Is not the distress
Of a return
The butterfly
With vanilla wings
Is not the mirage
From your garden
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
The calm
Of St Marys
Is not the surf
Of Sennen Cove
The peace
That lasts
Is not the distress
Of a return
The butterfly
With vanilla wings
Is not the mirage
From your garden
This is Sennen Cove
As it was
As it is
As if
That will be the way
This is Sennen Cove
As it is
As it was
As if
Always this is the way
Chased for money
Harassed for funds
Reaching out
For more than I’m due
Accounts rendered
Reference submitted
What else is forgotten
In the world of the world
I cannot see
But I can imagine
So I do not see
But I don’t half imagine
I cannot be
But I can do
So I don’t be
But I do quite considerably do