IAN CURTIS POEME ( 1973 )

Stood by our gooseberry bush, A sight not seen in eight years Or so, I drifted off to an earlier Day, with the birds flying high and The sun in the sky, burning my Juvenile skin. I placed out my Hand for to touch it’s fresh leafs And to taste its bittersweet fruit. Silent ghosts stood beside me, Wishing me well, while I remembered My youthful years. But now the Smells not the same and the taste Has gone plane, and the sky’s a Miserable grey. For this garden Of old and house long since sold Shall never see the likes of me again Ian Kevin Curtis