The rhythm of a dream
If asked one summers evening
One more time I may well scream
In one short and fleeting moment
Catch the rhythm of a dream
Or reach out on winter’s nightfall
With the task clearly avowed
As the left hand extends skywards
Touch the essence of a cloud
Or a normal Sunday dinner
Of a standard sort of life
Try to understand the nuance
Of a sentence from my wife
Some things are never easy
And some will never be
Concentration and some practise
I’ve been told may hold the key
I would sooner bathe in acid
Pitch my pubes against the louse
Than unravel hidden meanings
In the sentence of my spouse