Stories That Get Told - Josh Pyke
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I should see you walk in from our garden
The sun a soporific on your shoulder blades
And you should kick your shoes off at the door
And mark me with the pollen on your fingertips
.
Instead December brought the pouring rain
The whimsy of the season
Dampened by the day
And sometimes changes is incremental
To the point we can convince ourselves
We're still the same
.
But as the street lights flicker on
Under skin and bone
We're all awash
With something borrowed
And everything I want
Is at rest between these walls
.
Someday we'll all be
Stories that get told
But told incorrectly
But our trail won't grow cold
Our trail won't grow
Our trail won't grow cold, cold
.
So now we watch you walking in our garden
And what a many splendoured sight you are to see
And there'll be dancing, there'll be