Guide

His intonation amuses me
He appears to encourage excitement
Yet what he hears is laughter
He tries to create a sombre mood
Yet today’s crowds are jovial

Will he return home
To bathe in disappointment
Or will his obvious stoicism
Lead him to say
Ah well, tomorrow is another day

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Tuning

There is no earthly, nor heavenly reason
Why I should see her
Yet my faith, my own faith, it is unimpeachable

There is no time like this real time
That I would not take to be there
Where my faith, in my own faith, remains reachable

There is no silence such as the long continued silence
So so rich to engage with, so so harsh to suffer
Yet my faith in my own faith, is edifyingly agreeable

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Backrest

I sat in wait for your arrival
Yet knew my wait was in vain
But I am the stain which shouts out: survival
For it was in the waiting whence you came

I felt the first spots of the drizzle
As the bird's whistle was almost silenced
Only the lonesome gull called out
Only the autumn gardeners heard my shout

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Circular Lawn

I wouldn’t know how to receive you
Except I would find a way
I wouldn’t wish to deceive you
I have other irons in play

But I see you as a deserving cause
If no more to it than that
And of course you can use the exemption clause
On which to hang your steadfast hat

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Crest Of Wave

There is a line of beauty
Which should not be missed
It is as if ones duty
Is the nature of which is to be kissed

It is more than one could hope for
To find the pencil top
Among such a scattering of leaves

Yet with persistence, and lateral thinking
Also by taking an alternative perspective
The pencil top is found

Now back to that line of beauty
Just before the waters fall
It is as if ones duty
Is to be placed here waiting for the call

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