Monday, 23 March 2015

Palm Sunday - and every day...





Come on now, clear your throat and do your best Sinatra...


The falling leaves drift by the window....     

(With a creak and then one almighty thud...)

The autumn leaves of red and gold....

(Of brittle, faded brown...)




I see your lips, the summer kisses

(I see the mess, Autumn's detritus...)

The sunburned hands I used to hold

(Scratched & scabby more like from heaving trees 

around...)

Since you I went away the days grow long

(Well a bit shorter over here actually..)

And soon I'll hear old winter's song

(But it'll still be in the high 20s so not to worry...)

But I miss you most of all my darling

(My darling blog readers, naturally...)

When autumn leaves start to fall

(Give us a lift with this one would you?)





(Thanks. Got your chopper handy?)




With apologies to Joseph Kosma; Jacques Prevert, Marie Andre and Johnny Mercer.

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