You wielded your tongue like a dagger,
it cut across my teeth...
I wanted you and only you
But again and again you have shown me your truth...
Old mails are old stories
In some mails i lived the glory...
Ode to the man who once learned to weep,
Ode to the winter, the shepherd and his sheep...
Is it all about ennui
keeping boredom at bay...
You always had me
scratching at the dirt...
When I first laid a bite, I saw black and white;
a bunch of bright stars. What a delight...
I wasn't born
in Ballarat...
my week has been a raining day so far
with winds semi-calm and clouds as grey...
I got stuck one day
with my shoe lodged...
Inspired places
no sad faces...
All travel may carry its dangers
whether driving the Mid-East...