The end of Spring

With swirling, falling

Purple petticoats 

The city trees signal

The end of their season.

The playful petals

Of springtime blooming

Have fallen prey 

to Father Time, 

That old greyhair,

And his consort Mother Nature,

Together conspire

To turn the springtime maidens

Into summer mothers,

Providing shade 

for younger lovers

Spreading their leaves while

Remembering the day

Their sticky fallen blossoms 

Took their innocence away

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Life Before Spotify

Strolling Down the Highway by Bert Jansch just

Came on my music player software.

And I am transported to a room somewhere

In a memory vault coated in dust

Three friends sit and share our last tobacco dregs

And analyse the techniques of fingerstyle folk

The music is enchanting, our voices softly spoke

And we lay on the carpet, no strength in our legs

The night fires were burning, dawn a glimmering dream

Our love for the music was all we required

We lived on plain pasta, and fruit that had expired

And often a pot of dark tea, on the fire, released steam

That magical summer before the digital age, 

As a group of young students we told fantastic jokes 

Amid the laughter, The tea, the chat and the smoke

We found connection to each other that’s so hard to gauge