Writers

We can sometimes squeeze, from each breath taken, a moment that's easy, that makes me swoon, face washed happy, in this bohemian room, outside is a sycamore tree, cars mark the way, sunlight parts the breeze, they’re playing our tune, forget lovely holidays, a lorry goes vroom, writing feeds our frenzy, the bed is a cradle, above is eternity, we’ll dance on this avenue, each thought castaway, tell our good news, till the house timbers creak, we’ll try and create, some lovely speak, say love is what stays.