Tragedy used to

hold us in sway but these days 

it's just TV fare 

Cups runneth and spill

tea or wine or truths dribbling

and staining our lives 

The birds they sing it's 

spring, it's spring, days of joyous

rebirth and being 

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