Everytime I look at you I feel an itch that needs scratchin’
I feel a hole that needs patchin’
As my hands go in my pockets
To feel the wellin’ of the thing
I wonder if I
Can ever get over you
As still I feel longsome and wholesome
Toward you and your method of escaping
My humble clutches.
Instead I hold me and I wonder
If I could ever be there again
Beside you on the swing outside our neighbours
House. I will go down to the woods today
And see what I can see and find for you
To hear about in school.
Copyright B E Saunders 2016