Steve Howard

Comes the morning, thrush will call,
from brambled hedge, or garden wall.
Sing he must, and sing he will,
though even to a silent hill.
...

Leave back, leave back,
the meadow land,
where flowers come to grow.
To look upon a darker place,
...

My heart has made a garden,
where the thorn falls away from the rose.
Where every flower has your face,
the only flower that grows.
...

I think upon my now ex wife,
who was to me all joy in life.
Still her precious voice I hear,
"Would you like some coffee dear? ".
...