Clara

He has such giving ways, brings me Bollinger, on my birthday, what can we do alone, without the sense, of living our kiss time, wine pours down my face, it’s like a Christening, he slices the Angel cake, are we here or gone, without a Dime to spin, laughing at the unknown, sample the waste, our jellied lives crown, when called upon to pray, we roll and pitch astern, like ships on the sea, will our trips atone, for the greatest of days, awash with slips, it’s easy to celebrate, his beautiful spirit.