I shall whisper...tis but Sunday a heap of chores to do under this grey concrete sky...i can hear the clinking of Chardonnay bottles playing havoc in the fridge trying to spawn forth across the kitchen will my will power last until late afternoon...perhaps...however i am well any rest from the working saddle is bliss a feast of paper work awaits, also snail mail blows kisses to me pouts whispers have you forgotten....phew i think i should not be sat here on this morn as the clock ticks, rubber tyres, wash past outside my window...at least, at least, i can see the floor now, as old newspapers scream please don't throw me away, i sigh close my mind to the printed word from the newspaper world...vote in, vote out..the euro voting rage continues more lies layered higher than a sleeping donkey ...old junk mail lies in a heap thankfull it is nicely stacked for the recylce bin, a feat it enjoys the pain of the mash pan, the glee of formed in new print, win this win that, crunched once more through the nations letter boxes Race me on a new holiday in bright colours lands on the door mat......... save the trees, and did not some sweet lass sing about trees in a museum or was it a parking lot...
Quietly i slipped in an old abandoned paperback book into my room i pulled from a skip whilst the printed newspapers were not looking my old soul cannot bare books being discarded it cringes with sorrow..i could not stop my hand from clutching it thank you it said if you never read me at least you have saved my soul....for perhaps others that follow you..So Goeth...