For Better Or Verse

On Time's hackneyed path, you'll choose your curse,
A flogged awakening, or wilful swoon,
But I found myself, under a sky full of verse,
On an ill fated island, a blissful maroon.

Then you stitched a life, so cheaply bought,
And gave up on love, a trifle too soon,
As you followed The Piper to rot,
I sat there putting words to his tune.

I waited on, battered but proud,
Quietly swallowed silence, weaved myself a boon,
Strung together with Words, this shroud,
Warms the wintered bone, wipes the dripping noon.

Now fed with routine, you cease to cease,
Nestled cosy in daylight's cocoon,
Harp not about your sunlit victories,
For a poet has endured the raving moon.