Let’s get one thing straight.
This is mine,
This is mine,
And this is mine.
As far as the eye can see,
No stone left unowned.
Birds wheel, Insects cloud,
There are bees now in my garden.
And none of this is mine.
None of this is mine. • More
They wheel and see a thousand things,
We could dream of.
None of it mine.
Gates decay, fences sway, footpaths splay,
Become mycelium.
Bees hive where they like.
In the playhouse, beneath the playhouse.
And still a voice cuts through –
No stone left unowned.
Love and hope are not enough.