Would it matter
If I wrote the memoir
Of a life
With failed relationships
Could it help
Anyone
Could it
Help me
Why then to think
Where and how
Things went right
Or things went wrong
For isn’t there always
A beginning
A middle
And an end
In which case
I will have at least
Twelve stories
Or possibly more
And what about you
That is all of you
Who wish
To have your say
Hagworthingham
Is this the end
Of winter as we’ve known it
It is quiet now
The sky is blue
The Green is green
Soon there will be new tasks
Leaves to rake
Grass to cut
Pathways to tread
Where to go next
That is my question
Is AI poetry
The road to follow
You have to forgive
So where to start
Who to unify
With the first words
Take a walk
Think it through
Remember to name
The soul under review
I set off to walk
But found a café
With all-day breakfast
And Bakewell Tart
Where I am is where I am
Also where I want to be
Where I go to is where I go
Also where I want to
It feels wonderful
To do nothing
On a day
When there’s nothing to do
Among days and days
Of there being
Nothing to do
Oh how wonderful
Then to think of love
In such a way
That only one who has known
The love of being in love can
That one might even write
Of that warm flotation tank
Where one bathed
Deeply aware of a lover’s love
Each time we meet
You bring something else
To beat me with
I can’t take much more
I do have to tell you
