Therapy notes

Too much the child
They will not help you up
And fix you
They've done their time
This what their skills can do
They will not help you up.

And if they could've done better
Settled all the butterflies
Set up all the dominoes
You know they would've done so
This is what their skills can do
They cannot help you up.

The slow rolling of the hill
The greying hairs
The baggage train of unexplained
Armaments, defences
The rusted buckle on well stowed pain
The ordinary pretences
The soft and seeping sore of love
Too tender to be touched
Too much the child
Too much the child
They will not help you up.