It’s been a while and we’re still here, had a baby – last year.
learning more, it slowly clears
and growing beards.
In the late daft spring of this Kentish sky,
a thrush drops low and bites the fly
at the same time, somehow, I know not why
a scalded child emits his pitch perfect cry.
In this down in the mouth midst of our latest thoughts
a cloud of must-do’s fights through maybes and oughts
Yet you sit calmly blinking
Later, late on, at night, when we’re scrubbing the pots
I doubt the comments you drop are completely ersatz.
So, beautiful sun turns to ominous dark
it’s cold out, the day left no obvious mark
In our go to bed heads some wise cricket remarks
that to embrace this new time is, perhaps, lesser than daft
And this is how it is right now.