I sit in my garden , my feet are bare,
the dog luxuriates in autumn beams,
my shoulder is burnt, my spirit is sagging,
both will heal with time

The house forms a wall , a deep rampart
A division from the outer world ,
my phone is a port hole, a temptation to ignore ,
I will have to leave in time

The bay keeps growing , I sip from my beer
I say things that need to be said but you are to far away to hear,
The old bench is creaking , so are my knees
we all have to leave in time

The lemon tree stands laden , dead leaves crunch under step,
the world seeps through the defenses ,
A wail, a gidday , and a demand to know just why
Don’t you see ? all we have is time.