Wednesday, 20 April 2011

One more for the fire

So you burned all your love-letters?
Oh dear, are you really that cruel?
Have my eyes deceived my mind?
That I saw only what I wanted to see?

Maybe they were mere teenage dreams,
Written on school-book paper.
Maybe they were just gentle words,
Simply written as your heart dictated.


Maybe they were mere teenage dreams.
But, oh, how we must dream.
Maybe they were just gentle words,
But far better than spoken lies.

Sometimes written words tell
More truth by far than words spoken;
Maybe you were loved more dearly
Than you knew or could understand.

So you burned all your love-letters.

If truth is to be burned then -
I love you.
And here's one more for the fire.

4 October 1976  

Thursday, 14 April 2011

Nice Surprise

It is very difficult
To open both palms
Before the excited wide eyes
Of an expectant child
When you've nothing to show.

How can you stop
The tinsled tear,
That grows to a raindrop ,
And trickles down the window
Pane on the little face?

You take him in your arms
And hold him close;
You tell him it'll be all right,
And show him the beauty
Of the world around him. 

You watch his little eyes
Mirror the sunshine,
And marvel at the way
His little fingers reach out
To touch the clouds.

As if we knew
That from up there
We are all very small,
Like little children,
Hoping for a nice surprise.

I have little to give
You cannot already find,
But let's pretend
That there may be something -
And maybe get a nice surprise.

4 October 1976