Deep in the hood of my favourite winter coat,
cut off from the world like in a cave across a moat
where no one can get at my brain or my throat
and thoughts come and go in a little row boat
with the tide and with the moon and stories told,
the changing seasons and the leaves turning gold
and I didn’t see the sun until I was nine years old
just the clouds, the wind, the rain and the common cold.
Now I’ve got holes in my teeth and holes in my boot
and holes in all the pockets of my trousers and my suit
where I hid away the biscuits and I only left the fruit
when I said ta-ta and retreated with a wave and a salute.
Retreated to my cave on the other side of the moat
cut off from the rest of the world, adrift but still afloat.
Decisions need to be made but I’m the only one with a vote,
and I cast it in the hood of my favourite winter coat.