Through The Looking Glass Pane And What Emma Found

Looking through the glass pane at the pissing down rain.

Been walking through the heath to relax my brain.

All this when my kids are in Spain.

A necessary sacrifice, a personal choice,

the goal of entitlement to celebrate voice.


‘Pray for all the women out there,’ we say every night.

For God knows, it is going to be an eventful fight.

I hope they remember to say it before they turn out the night-light.


Face cold and damp,

Apple blossom and leaves line the roads –

The wonderful stench of suburban living.


No chocolate eggs this Easter.

But real shells caught in the drain, only fair.

Leftover from the egg and bean lunch,

No time for food prep.

Don’t seem to care.

Now dusk and pondering a glass of red wine or something soft instead?

Still sitting at my desk, enough said.


Excuses, deviations, my eyes do hurt.

Summaries awaiting attention one thing is for cert (mate).


Thinking when walking in the pissing down rain,

analyses help my sense of composure and refrain.

From self-perpetuated, self-inflicted negative waves,

as emotions lie guarded in their caves.

What’s it all for? Bemoans the menacing doubt.

Get back under the table you messed up lout.

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