Still on the sleeve

       Ah well, my heart's a little shabby now,
       long worn, and frayed, more than a bit,
       I used to dream of always being open,
       wide open and unwalled. Well,
       it hasn't always worked. Less often
       than the text book implied, but
       it's habit now. I'm still open,
       but like the lop eared, floppy bunny
       grandma gave me when she was in hospital
       only someone who remembers the open hearted
       child, the history, would look past
       the stains and bare bits
       to the lover I still am.


Ewan Asked, 
Youth were did you go, were did you go?
And Alys replied

       Oh! but my youth's still here,
       leaps thoughtless to its feet without a care,
       turns back to wonder at these creaking limbs
       that struggle so behind, and ache
       to rise, to float, to jig, to dance
       the lovesome roundelay; to shake
       white hair out to the screaming mercy
       of the sister's drums, or idly
       sip and talk the night away.
       My youth's still fine, imprison'd
       mured, and finds itself surprised
       to hear the songs of present joy
       now many years a-gley.