Sometimes I wrote under the old tree—
My place to breath, My place of truth.
Falling trillium leaves bend in like concerned friends,
mocking friends and beneficial friends..
They listen as I lament, there.
Back then —
My Ideal model has moved on to another genre,
And it makes me sad, really sad..
It’s not that I won’t be read,
I said all I could anyway;
The rest cannot be expressed in pen.
I start when I think of those
Smiles, Soft voices and Written whispers,
secrets spilled in ink –
I never think –
7 Days, I just did.
Maybe I’ll keep writing.
Mix it up a bit- and take
On an other assumed name.
And shouts “Look! I’m smiling again.
And day dreaming”.

My Model, My sunshine,
Is a little bit tough,
Hide some secrets
That makes me fall in love..
Like a jellyfish you can see right through;
You want to touch that kind of honesty,
But, beware of what is
Hidden there. Truth stings.
Now, after everything you’ve done,
Am the one still saying – Sorry.
But I afraid to see us together
I choose we never be..
And that what makes me,
Your NEVER forever Chevalier!


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