My eye has fallen on your funny face

You look so dear I cannot shift my gaze

Both love and humour cherish and embrace.

Your skin and smile and on them gladly graze.

My tears have fallen on your fine made hands

As you held me to comfort and caress

And on our fingers are our wedding bands Which symbolise that union God did bless

My nose has sniffed the honey of your smell

My ears have heard the your much desired gruff voice.

My fingers know your crevices so well

My toes all tingle as in need of vice. For serious words are death to married joy

And so my humour I shall now employ.

I was feeling a trifle excited

The meringues were all stuck to the plate

The jelly was yellow

The custard was mellow

And the cream was too thick to inflate.

I was feeling a tart in the market I hardly knew which slice to bite.

My heart felt like sponge cake

With jam and cream in a lake I’ve a hard nut to crack in the night

The sky is stark, the air is cool and still
The black cat’s run, the birds unfold all day
I sit down here and with my totty pray
Ye cast o’ foolish thoughts, you raped my will.
We’ve each enraged the bureaucratic mill.
Oh frigid purse, I never meant to pay!
The sky ‘s a-spark, the air is warm and shrill
The saturnine,

demoted, knelled their way
With this feathered pounce, my sample quill,
I cite the cheque and date it for next May.
Oh, tit for cat, the tiger’s bed ‘s astray.
Yer life is settled by a harlot’s will
The sky ‘s a shark, the air is sharper still.

I look up our small street,

To see if you are coming.

I don’t know what time it is, .

But I think I hear you humming.

You sang sweet songs for us .

And you could whistle well.

You wore an old tweed jacket

You loved us, we could tell. .

I look out there each day,

But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.

I saved your Woodbine packet, It made me feel some hope.

What does death’s door mean? Where has Daddy gone?

When will be the welcome day, When we hear his songs again?

I’ll sing like him all day,

I’ll dream of him all night.

I hope he won’t be angry,

If his cigarettes won’t light!

He can’t write his own songs now. He went too far away, too soon. I’ll write down what I think he sang,

And I’ll invent the tune.

I hear him singing now,

.He dwells inside my heart.

And though I still can’t see his face, I recognise his Art.