Back seat three’s fours.

It’s seen better days those pillars that still chime

Well exercised minds of once marbled halls

Leaden lines for a bulls nosed ring.

Passing pyres three’s and four’s

Tee off high tea horses driving rain

I will never come back Agincourt 

Passing pyres three’s and four’s

Tee off high tea’s horses driving rain.

Forty fears and forty miles 

Travelling  to find a shell you hang from

black ribbons above boat tapestrys

that engulfed and entwined

The scarabs that you brought 

back Through to the sunshine 

past procession lined palms of 

temple of opened minds 

Basking under Ray’s fins