As the windmill blows,
I rewind just so that I could row,
With this solitude on a caste away shore .
I mumble to myself ,
As the tired Tyre floats
Of the varied beauty and of gore.
About the times I smiled across to you from the kitchen shelf.
The wine was merrier,
And so was the lore ,
I perch on the pinnacle and sow,
That shallow sense of freedom ,
That I forever lust for.
This quest to break away ,
From the season and from change ,
I whistle away patiently ,
Underneath all the humdrum,
While my smile remains,
Like those lost pearls that I forever wore.