Irene

The ice cold Diva, makes no sense to me, when she sings Ave Maria, face tragic as your bones, a poem helps me sleep, source what you have shown, the love you gave to rivers, to seamen and Cafe's, stunned you made us shiver, your laugh is for dreamers, like sunshine on the breeze, yet hard as coquina, in circumstances of our own, can we ever make history, when each morning’s disowned, no one lives Scot free, or owns their own scene, praying only for Bollinger, your soul flies released.