I am sent adrift,
and everyday is just another shift,
when all I need is a chant,
to send me ashore again.

I went astray,
still with hope on my tray,
though I can no longer listen
to what you have to say,
when you are too distant.

come on over,
take my hand,
pick the clover,
wipe off the sand,
stay right there,
comprehend when,
it's easier to catch a fever,
than to grab you for a dinner.

or perhaps just a supper,
I'd still get to
spend minutes together,
send you home later,
we could maybe
take a detour,
get amused at the theater,
they're for you to consider,
my dear.

zeidalqadri
140409
2230