Sitting outside the Bell.

A pint for the word smith,
of time and Lilith,
for all the birds of Warwickshire,
were setting love on fire.

The pub, the post office and the church,
the fool as if as silver birch
and she the gentle of the day,
proclaims the coming of the May.

Did you sing on the way to Passion's Dale,
were you warm when the weather did fail?
take note of those that sing,
mighty eternal and ring.

For their is time without mention,
sitting with friends on the bench,
the players wait their turn,
the almighty
and a golden globe,
for even the glass collector has her turn,
about
kissing on the green,
under a wishing strobe,
for those that love in glad,
dancing gaily away the sad.

~