There's no sense in the blood-bottomed meadows
Sad and pale in the light of the evening skies,
And the rusting bicycle spokes stand shattered, little fingers,
The bars on the cage of innocence.

Oh to taste the aniseed, thick saliva, glorious days
In the bent of youth, to race the wind, the message
In the bottle, and to catch pepper seeds, taken to lofty flight,
On the breath of windless summer nights

Where lies the reasons of breathless fancy,
The wonders of childhood gone now, sullied,
The rich vibrance of life's threadbare tapestry,
Aflame in the depths of a heart

As I sit and watch the swallows, paper leaves,
And damp confetti strewn, the corpses of remembrance
Littered, poor and dying, under the apple boughs,
I long to watch the last lights
Die amongst the darkening clouds.