Where Ever You May Be

Writing poetry is a lonely by yourself account Of writing down what is in your own head, A metaphor you see in your mind of Love, hate nature and the ever full moon So I’m here to write a poem, a poem That knows where it’s going with a start A middle and an end that seals it off. Something new no daffodils or roses No broken hearts, no tigers or leaves at your feet, Or no more wishes for the soul mate out there. I know the something no one talks about I’ll write a poem of the wind, yes the wind The wind that we all let free, discreet of course, The ones who leave it behind in the lift Then ten people enter and pretend it’s not in the air Then all stare at the fat guy who is innocent And try not to breathe, believe, The young lady with a baby in the supermarket aisle Lets off a rasper then says to baby “What was that! ” Little children of three playing on the floor know that Grand dad when sat always uses his left leg to raise his cheek To let his wind go free, they see it’s so natural, Hence the old saying ‘Where ever you may be always let your winds go free.’ Yes I’ll write a poem of that not forgetting those Who emulate their pet dog at their feet Who stink like hell without a noise, and so discreet.