There’s a hole at work,
noone can fill it, it’s gone,
and a void remains.
The tables are turned,
round ones in particular,
they turn very well.
I’m feeling tired,
cofffe is not working well,
but it’s tasting great.
Music’s my passion,
the way one holds a guitar,
explains everything.
I’ll string you along,
through the bushes, down the road,
until you are lost.
I’ve got a secret,
and I’ve only told myself,
but I can’t keep them.
I had a strange dream,
that just went around and round,
each time with a change.
I got up early,
after the dawn, only just,
and before sunrise.
The day was lovely,
but I stayed in doors all day,
but looked out often.
I am fading fast,
so fast I can not keep up,
and tiredness wins.
Here inside my dream,
the haiku just go around,
changing a little.
Until they all morph,
into the perfect short poem.,
that catches your ear.
I bid you ‘a Dieu,’
mon amie, je nous dit,
je cherch pour mon lit.
Say, I can’t speak it,
nor write it, even think it,
in my English mind.
