As a boy I applauded her magnificent figure; As a boy I watched her fly, in the sky, so high. As a boy I admired her almighty vigour; As a boy I watched her deftly swoop and swirl. As a boy my intransigent senses she was able to trigger.
She was coloured golden brown as she flew; She flashed and dazzled in the early morning sunshine. She commanded the air as she soared straight and true; Her eyes could see far ~ much farther than those of you or I. Below nothing could obscure her view of the ground, bathed in dew.
There is no god in England (I learned of that this day) For when a man is stricken He has no more to say. He lies in expectation, The end to shortly be, His heart is blindly gazing out Through eyes that barely see.
The blaze within his body Radiates, and yet, The chilling of his very soul Allows him to forget. With sonance all around him, The sobbing and the tears, He listens to so many words Whereas he hardly hears.
And so within his restless mind His hopes are all he'll keep; All he'll find...
Where have all the raindrops gone Spilling from on high? Which once would fall about my head But now my head is dry. Where have all the snowflakes gone Ambling down from space? Shivering in the winter wild And melting on my face.
Where have all the rivers gone Dashing to and fro? They once would splash across the land As seaward they would go. Where have all the oceans gone To crash against the shore? All that's left is salted sand Upon the seabed floor.
I planted out an oak tree One hundred years ago; I saw her fed and watered, I watched her lithely grow. I watched her through the winter wild Frosted, frore and dark. I watched as the summer sunburn Baked her golden bark.
My friend the ardent oak tree Drew me by the hand; Her strength an inspiration, She taught me how to stand. Amidst the savage blizzard She learned to bow and bend; Resisting stormful battles, Triumphant in the end.
Now an aged oak tree, Her wisdom with me resting,...
In every life some rain must fall Though wherefrom heaven knows. With passing years the storm may call, The tempest comes and goes. The day could see a cloudburst hail To soak you through and through Yet silver raindrops deftly fail To bathe away the blue.
As thunder quakes the path of life, Like cannons in the sky. And lightning, cutting like a knife, An electric charge on high. When icy drops sleet all about And crisis canters near Then windy blows that scream and shout Bombard the soul with fear. ...
There he stood with his painted face; All focused on the bright colours that he wore. No one saw his eyes (they were out of place) Why should they? That's not what they had paid to see. It was his jolliness that they chose to embrace.
His eyes, though, he could not over paint. He could only shade around them in order to deceive ~ Nor gloss over them to conceal that troubled taint... Eyes which contrasted 'gainst a huge smiling mouth ~ Sad eyes... happy jocose smile... how quaint!
And so the day in earnest comes, She slowly starts to grow. Then the daylight blush appears And gently starts to show. Just as the songbirds first awake To serenade the air... Digest the moment, listen well, Their voice is everywhere.
As strands of brilliant light are born To saturate the ground; Creatures of the daytime stir And deftly move around; Watch them roused (unbeknownst to them) And see them frisk and quest, Remember soundly all you see... Creation at its best.
I am not now the one I used to be. Time has changed me, as to everyone it does; I am a divergent wight now, as you see, My soul has become so much more infinite And so with contrasting ideas I now agree.
That one I used to be I am not still. I am no wiser despite the fleeting years; Though I exist in the hope that until (or that time comes when I am able) All my aspirations I may yet fulfill.
There was a time when I saw things very clear Though that is not exactly so today. There was a time when I held things very dear ...