Free Spirit

I stare at nothing
and nothing do I see
nothingness is the state for me

for me anonymity
no name no form
and shapeless I will be

shapeless yes hopeless no
for this I know – eternity
has sown its seeds in me

ashes to ashes dust to dust
my spirit will eternal be

my death will set it free
free to fly – free to roam
free to find my forever home

Comment:

Moo is bring stroppy. He has started painting again, but he refuses to sign his paintings. “Three little letters,” I told him. I won’t tell you what he told me to do. little bit embarrassing, and I am not that flexible in my old age.

Never mind. When nobody was looking, I promised him one of KTJ’s world famous Peanut Butter Balls. Well, they would be world famous if I let them out of my fridge in Island View, and I certainly don’t intend doing that. Then I asked him for a title and he went as crazy as Cuckoo Spit. He told me he was Going Bodmin Again, just like in Doc Martin. I told him he wasn’t in Doc Martin. “How do you know,” he asked, “you always fall asleep in front of the telly.”

He thinks he was hugging that great big squirrel, as mad as a hatter, as crazy as a loon, as loony as a man in a loony bin. So, why does a lunatic sleep under the bed. Answer – because he’s a little potty of course.

Does anybody read this junk I write? I can’t imagine that they would. However, if you are reading it, please send a recipe for maple fudge by mule train via the lower Andes. I think it is quicker than snail mail, or the dog sled via the North Pole. Every time a dog lies down for a rest, those sleds get a flat tire.