Once was a girl who quit it cold turkey.

All that smoking and puffing didn’t quite workie.

She’d rage day and night…

About being happy and right.

In the end we all thought her quite quirky.

I’ve been in Paul’s studio for the last week away from the masses and have delved into the world of buying paint and creating stick people who say little unless you listen very closely and then… you may hear the voices of discontent from a not so distant past.

I feel her rise at centre stage.

That spotlight shine on dear old rage.

The winds of change are circumspect.

Bang that drum… demand respect.

I’m older now, can cool that rise.

Looking for nothing in anyone’s eyes.