I will square with you:
though there is no proof,
have the ring of truth.
A brush of lips against lips,
the girl's swept-up into his arms.
He's under the spell of this white-witch.
She sways her man with oldy-world-charms.
The sun sparkles on the water
like the eyes of Neptune's daughter.
Yes Neptune's daughter I call her
whose words are most surely winning
when in my eyes she says she's now swimming.
If there's a woman
behind a poet's success,
then I missed-out
more or less.
If there was one, I'd choose
she we poets call the Muse.
He writes down many a word
in his own quiet way.
The strong and silent type,
yet with very much to say.
Yes he writes down many a word
with the courage of his convictions,
though there are those talk a lot
would impose on the poet restrictions.
It is rumoured Charlie Manson
could stop clocks with his stare.
He stopped the ticking of hearts
we are all now well-aware,
in a sure cold, cruel, brutal-killing
that Father Time had a fatal hand in?