We were all depressed, us poets us thieves.
But then we opened our eyes, we looked to the skies, we cleaned up our act – we breathed.
Us lot, that lot, what is our lot? To live and work and die; and love?
To Love. Now that’s a thing.
To Love and be Loved. Now that is everything.
I hope and I plead. But not always.
Was being Loved just a dream?
Let’s jump. Let’s be.
Dreams are real don’t you know? Love is real.