Spring came. With clothes of winter still
wrapped round me, I walk to the bus.
Growing craftier everyday
To a world on its hinges.
The noise and wind work at the nerve,
I only have to look at my jacket
And I became melancholy.
I only have to speak of shoes and
I weep. The misunderstood nature
of conflict swallows the world's truth
With a dogs decorum for concern.
Working everyday wears away the
Immunity like a pair of
Shoes. You can repair the laces,
The heels but when your soul gives out-
It's over.
Tom Harding
www.tomarianne.net
tom.harding@talk21.com
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