While scratching cat claws at singing bell
I write these gentle words,
I have gentle
Most gentle words to tell.
With crows feet eyes, under my patch of bluest skies,
Bird branch trees, choired in threes,
Singing sails breeze.
In this burning olive sun
I write these perfectly imperfect words of impractical scrawl,
With no cast of doubt
No shadows crawl.
Seas of scented coloured air
Fill my mind with grateful tear eyed thanks,
While my feet are warmed, warmed on darkened planks.
I have a thing of bluest moon rare,
I am deeply loved
A gift of once diamond found,
Is to be held and cherished
On this most thankful ground.
And I will love her until my mortal days have faded
And my crown of greys are bound,
A love like ours is forever
Forever till dust and ground.
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.