Blue moon of very uncle way
to you I show my feelings;
those free things still locked away
Although I see the sun at night
it casts no shadow and in the sun
by day, I hide away.

London's winter ends in a new decade,
for me a new face, for another a new facade.
Meet again mid—winter on reversed earth's season.
Drive to high cloud table to see the new city home.
Ivy covered church of aged bored stones shadowed
by the watchdog of the dream who covered every breath.
Coloured stone fountain and winding drive,
packed city view and white foamed river
kaleidoscopes around the new face and new facade.
The next revolving weeks are skipped like the
painting of the Sistine to the night of the thunder
and the morning of refreshing rain.
The story that's told by a mother to a child
which then becomes an adult was washed of
all its descriptives.