Once I lived deep in a forest
My bleeding heart turned to stone
I disappeared out in the shadows
A hollow tree I called home

I know what it is to be a hobo
Train to train, same house twice
I know how it feels to beg and borrow
To share my roll with scratchy mice

Once I even tried to phone home
But the number slipped my weary mind
And when I finally did remember
It all seem such a waste of time

Do you know what it's like to be a hobo?
Nobody knows you when you're down
Memories haunt you like a cold wind
I was lost but now I'm found

Now I live upon a mountain
High above the raging sea
Timeless, old but not forgotten
This hobo nature inside of me...

Fail at first.
Learn and try again.
Succeed and thrive.
Love what you do,
You will never work another day.

Oh, dear sweet one.
If you ever
feel
beneath the glass
I could only ask of you
your promise
to
hold fast.
It is not the tree
and withered
figs
your blossom-body, chaste,
that sets aside
a destiny
and
fits you with a mask.
I am not Buddy,
Gordon, Irwin,
Demons
in your past.
I'll wait till Spring
to call for them
Ms. Greenwood
and Ms. Plath.