No ratings.
For a girl who liked Ravens |
Ravens I once knew a girl who liked ravens, and I'm pretty sure that she liked me Alas I was often too craven I guess some things aren't meant to be In a game craft with cunning, so foxy With hindsight an ironic prize Playing our roles in a proxy Unaware what's seen in other's eyes In excited train journeys to places To faces important, that count Thrumming down tracks, the heart races As memories mass and they mount Not always set in a sequence Not always straight in a line Some stations at first just don't make sense They only make sense over time When you pan out and see the big picture Not just the view from the train Through the window, life runs with its scripture Blurring a weary refrain But amidst the nostalgic hued montage Some images rise to the top Colours that climb in the collage With purple, the cream of the crop A harvest of fond home made scotch eggs A dragon print throw from the east Foreign fund media bootlegs Well meant tuna pasta bake feasts Nights stranded beyond final buses Hours long bought and short spent Broken toes, wheel chairs, fusses ... that one final gift left unsent Hand crafted die for a gamble A flutter, a reflex, fresh doors Perspectives new, different walks ambled … all of these things and much more The past has its chapters, its havens This book has its most cherished marks Of a girl, who I knew, who liked ravens and grapes fed to squirrels in parks |