I left the door ajar

Tonight;

In hope that you might

Enter

And find me sat,

In old and tatty leather.

Silent

By dancing firelight;

Reading Donne.

Thinking of nights gone past.

When love letters from the heart,

Were mixed with windswept days,

And smiles.

Reality is a cruel friend,

Which lends itself

To rain,

Grimy windows,

Lack of hope,

And ennui.

But , I think again;

There is the cosmos,

Which can well bring change;

Tomorrow,

Or today,

And you may join me in my muse.

As cold as reality is,

We must upbraid it

And deny it.

The world is ours,

Should we wish it,

I fervently do.

                                _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Owain Glyn