Yolande

She hates the dull why, the pleadings for freedom, in sought after light, but what is she doing, making chocolate marina, painting yellow fascia’s, a drink of the wine, fire tunes her seasons, she will be fine, night boils her troubles, afternoon's her reason, it makes her days frozen, who knows the time, the walls of this prison, christened by a child, the kids will get through, regular as the heating, lilac as an evening tune, their faces awry, beneath a moon’s steeple, to chant without crying, all of love’s leavings.