We go like the blossom  a slow burn to
extinction  consumed by the very air
that we breathe to keep us alive  Built-in
obsolescence you might say  So what is
the point of it all?
                         Is it to grow rich
and famous?  To be known for being known?
Who will read us when we’re gone? Who will care?
When I was a child I wrote as a child
Simple compositions to reflect my
simple life  All so far away and gen-
tle now  I loved the open fields and an-
cient woodlands or to wander down to the
wide grey river to watch the boats go by
The anglers on the pier
                             bating their breath

John Lyons