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the end slipped
and made a perfect figure eight
and the cosmos closed
for the chelsea flower rose
and the fat lady could touch her toes
and the fires on the grate
past the chapel of hate
eternal damnation and the lake of fate
shall slither and slide on the emotion of late
and the cross and the divide
the shimmering moonlight of the tide
that ebbs the maiden's tied to the stake
on the Solway Firth
and the anvil of the girth
that stutters and replicates
towards the upside down pyramid
to wonder and gyrate
down the avenues of space
was that cloth lace?
of the dimensions of the lurid and the disgrace?
or did it save face like the ego that told it so?
the mysteries that stare us in the face
that rattle and groan at their own pace
to singleton the fate of most of the human race
the righteous and their pillars of snow
that keep their secrets where ever they go
the constillations do shine and forego
somewhere west of Virgo
past the mortars and the paste
and the holiest now and the grace
patterns oh patterns in the fineness of lace
and the cutest of knowledge in the embers of the dying face
Love to all....................Georges