Lord, let me feel the 

same joy as a dog romping 

unbound through a field 

 The stately elm so

alone pined for a forest 

or at least a copse 

My former home drenched

in the wild scent of jasmine 

at night calls to me 

The reflection warps,

weaving a false narrative 

from our circus world 

 

 The sky's the limit 

unless its falling again 

or so they tell us 

Guffaw if you like 

or stare in awe as the world

continues to spin 

In the darkness of

predawn the past and present 

intertwine and fuse