I mourn for you in May,
when the tide of that sweet day,
kissed our feet on the sands of youth’s romance.
The long hours of shining sunsets,
to ice cold moons,
our ever-magic tunes,
that danced to the jingle jangle tambourine,
of Dylan’s troubadours,
with the speed of the wind.
Oh such a wind that never was known,
from Edwardstone to St Ives bay,
a path of sunsets to moon ray,
Dear God who made us for those hours,
be you praised with more than flowers,
In vast imaginings,
we Queens and Kings,
lived out your gloriously naïve,
inventions to achieve,
that unloads on cemetery roads,
with a richer dust concealed.
I mourn for you in May.