I WRITE OF:

You ask if I know what it´s like to bring the babe to earth,

No, but I write of conception & the pains & pangs of birth,

I write of rapid growth & the tardy progress of every man,

But I have not yet grown, not walked a mile & neither ran.

You ask if I know what it´s like to be loved & to return love,

No, I´ve never loved, but know it´s all around, below & above,

I write of love & passion & of that effusive & orgasmic flame,

But I have not yet been unleashed & I am still far-far too tame.

You ask if I know how to dance, to paint & to gaily trill & sing,

No, I´ve never been given talent, just a clipped, God given wing,

I write of the artist, of the dancer & also of the love lorn bard,

But I´ve no talent to call my own, not even a small & tiny shard.

You ask if I know what it´s like to feel that searing & aching pain,

No, I´ve felt no pain; maybe I´m too hard, or probably just insane,

I write of those sad feelings, of the desolation & desperate screams,

But I´ve no tears that fall from my eyes & down my face in streams.

You ask if I know all about life´s living, the lingering dying & of death,

Yes this I know, I know all about the sighing of life´s ultimate breath,

I write about the joys life & also what it´s really like to expire & die,

As I´ve always been part of this wonderful earth, of sea & mighty sky.