Birmos in the Cowshed

Now that you know who
Has entered the pen
I may never see you
Ever again

But I’ll still have the memory
Striding cocksure through the mist
Birmos in the cowshed
Silkies on the wrist

I like my rice pudding
Creamy and thick
But cheap nostalgia tends
To get on me wick

Yet bless these odd exceptions
I find hard to resist
Birmos in the cowshed
Silkies on the wrist

Things ingrained invade all thoughts
Of fixing on today
Out goes flu jab two fifteen
In comes Vale away

Beyond the next bend, who knows what
As comfort looks to flee
Pictures in the distance
Still soothe

Hook wrapped 'round my neck
I’m leaving the pen
Seems I’ll never see you
Ever again

Drifting with the morphine
Keeping with the tryst
Birmos in the cowshed
Silkies on the wrist
Phantoms in the cowshed
Silk scarf on my wrist