Grant Howard Bunce

I breathe a heavy sigh lost in my thoughts of you, I look out the window ignoring birds who bill and coo.
I forget to breathe nothing else matters when I'm thinking of you.

This madness that i live every day, you're so close I could almost touch you.
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I have before me a blank sheet....What will I write?

A short story for the children to help them sleep at night?
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Oh Blade of grass I salute thee! And dedicate these words of praise to you.
Often you are cut down in your prime and trampled under shoe.

Who hasn't enjoyed the meadows? or sitting on you under the trees? Or the smell
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Ebbing tides remove the footprints we leave in our lives.

Lapping waters rearranging the sand ready for the next players to enter.
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Apples sit up in the apple trees, bumping together in the breeze,
Rosie cheeks in the warm suns light, huddled together on a cold dark night.

Singing songs when no one can hear with the blackbirds or a passing deer.
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The moon drags the sea about,
and makes the tides come in and out.
The man up there in the moon,
stirs up the sea with a long spoon.
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Sleep has arrived, morpheus is calling, pulling me away,
too many worries crowd my mind and force me to stay.

Eventually he takes my hand, powerless i go in silence,
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Morpheus slips out from behind the wardrobe.

Sleep has arrived, morpheus is calling, pulling me away,
too many worries crowd my mind and force me to stay.
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Man judges man, tells him his poem is not very good.
Says it disappoints him, look at me I'm really good!

cheap advertising of his own work, check out my poem,
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Len asked Ken to tell Ben to go get some Kendall mint cake.

Ken questioned, Ben Len? When?
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My time has come and i am sadly gone,
it cannot be reversed, you did nothing wrong.

You couldn't prevent or have known,
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In the early morning moments, before sunlight pierces the leafy dome, or slowly lights up rooms, one by one in my quiet little home

Long before the sunrise heralds the glow of the fresh days dawn.
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When darkness surrounds you and light cannot be found.

When you see the truth but do not hear it from everybody around.
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A hurst pulls up outside the house on a foggy February day.

It isn't for next door, but for me, It's come to take you away.
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