Arlingwood drive Introspection

Lonely desperation clouds the mind at times,
it makes the heart jump at shadows,
and sounds born of errant winds.

The senses crave and slave to themselves;
The business end of madness
waits in figurative wings.

She can smell it on you, and it turns her away;
Sensible ladies never suffer fools.
A lost boy approaching twilight years.

Little birds with broken wings
more often meet the mouths of hungry foxes,
than the downy shoe-box of a nurturing heart.

Let this be your warning to yourself.
There is much to be done and places to put your mind
Apply your heart to strength.
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