What is there to miss
What is there to miss
Caught in between time
Open the door
Wide enough to let in light
Perception is everything
Easy is the way
To lose touch with
Who you are
When salad days are meatless
Resting in the shade
Hunkered down
Below the barricade
Built in defence
Of childish things
A hurdle
Just high enough
To clear
On a fine day
With a following wind
Tall is the grass
We lie in
Sleeping in the noon day sun
Waiting on the moon
Counting stars
As they come out
One by one
Sundays were always slow
To pass
With no games to play
Trees are so much taller
From below
Listen to the bees
They are wise enough
To know
Communication is everything
If you want to find
Your way back home
They have no need
Of red shoes
But absentmindedly
Rub their knees
To cross pollinate
The air breathes
Heavy with the scent
Of their endeavour
After which
The secret of
Navigation is childsplay.