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Talk to me about leaves and books, Sitting in the street café with your fragile Hands wrapped around the coffee and the porcelain Tell me about the goblins in the cupboard and the Angel you saw when you were three, walking out of your window Like the Messiah Tell me about the golden rolling days of childhood summers And the autumns under six foot of snow and time And the winters that are never as good as they used to be Tell me about the time you found out you couldn’t fall in love again, And how you realised that you could beg For a dying child you’d known for all of three days Talk to me about God and men and curs