Spiritual

I leaned back against your breast and asked you of betrayal

I sometimes think about what my grandfather must have gone through. A man who died before I was even part of a world far, far different to the one he'd experienced. What would it have been like, under that scorching sun, worshipping the enriched red soil that was his lot? A soil which brought forth food to put on the table. No need for money. Only muscles. And an iron will to survive and ensure your children did likewise.

How strange now I'm old The grasshopper's weight,

Have you been down our street? It's called Compromise? A two-way street. Some went one way, some the other. Left-Right. East-West. They said we could meet in the middle. Only we never did. Too much noise and pollution. Need and greed. In the hour of rush.