Nick
I’d feed you sweet Angel Food Cake if I could
but we both know I’m the devil
with forks.
I’d toast you with demi-sec bubbly if you like
but I don’t think that brutes
really talk.
Bow soft violin strings beneath your window
but I’m sure the garden
has water enough.
Send Arabian gold over desert sand by camel
but I think you’d see through
that sort of stuff.
No. I will give you a home within my dreams
where we can laugh and think of could’ve beens
casting magic for sad old Nick in moonbeams.
Think kindly as you therefore raise a glass
to broken spells, silk wolves and what is past.
Howl at the sky and pray we may keep well;
rip up the star charts and raise merry hell.
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