Where do we find the will to run
With shameless spirit, innocent ease,
To where we had abandoned fun,
And pinned our dreams to a random breeze?
When does a feeling translate to a look
Of irresistible knowing,
Instinctive reaction, emotional hook,
Mutual grounds for not going?
Where, in the heart, are those dials
That read the rate of tears,
Measure distance out in smiles,
Calculate the depth of fears?
For reasons too complex to go into here, we are not making the move to Cornwall after all. Initially, we were desperately disappointed, now we're trying to be philosophical. We're staying put - at least, for now.
© 2010, copyright Martin T. Hodges