Peter

Sober you ask why, this way’s been chosen, before anything you can deny, more a dread space, you’re mouth frozen, with tired phrases, sing my favourite lines, our time done with roses, made better when you try, are all the great stations beyond my life hopeful, shrunken at waste, even the graveside, witnesses love's cloaking, clouds sail the sky, what settles on your face, neither time provokes, or blows over the traces, a flower at my side, just some little token, more a wish to verify, what truth is spoken.