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In each startling breath my mind’s eye wanders,

Halfcocked eyes filled from sand-filled sleep,

Brown bogs of peat and youthful squander,

Betraying a deep unreasoned need to weep. 

Moss green stone perplex the answers,

Castles wet from salt-water foam,

Floral dresses of ancient dancers,

Perfect thoughts of what I once called home.

Smoke filled pubs of conversation,

Rife with gossip, news and stories,

Of tragic, joyful, contemplations,

Well-used tales of old past glories.

You can live 10 lives and never discover,

The truth that lies under your nose,

That we’re all alone yet, without another,

Have made less of a mark than a garden hose.