Ant Smith

All poems

Sing to me

Sing to me of apples, of windfalls on the floor
Sing to me of brambles, of scratches on your paws
Sing to me of springtime, of bounties made for man
And I will sing to you of, this barren promised land

Sing to me of solstice, of belief in mystery
Sing to me of lovers, of mankind's history
Sing to me of summer of, the birds and of the bees
And I will sing to you of, the illusion of the free

Sing to me of harvest, of tasting what you reap
Sing to me of living, of beauty running deep
Sing to me of autumn of, karma and the wheel
And I will sing to you of, what it is to never feel

Sing to me of dark nights, of home fires and of warmth
Sing to me of new life, of the coming of the dawn
Sing to me of winter of, the ancient northern lights
And I will sing to you of, diseases and of blights

Sing to me of living, of rejoicing in this world
Sing your hallelujah as though it were a dirge
Sing to me of years as, years tumble by
And I will sing to you of the human waste of life