Three years I think it is now.
A summer like they used to be
based on my childhood reckoning.
Days where you almost wish for rain.
The scarred courts of Wimbledon,
willing the players in whites
to make the long wished for turn true -
and for once, they do.
Festivals where old time bands don’t let us down.
All is well, all is well…
Curiosity kills the the cat, or so they say.
I look you up and discover you down.