I favored it like grandmothers
Cooking on a brisk
Sunday,
Where dream days came
Flocking like seasonal birds,
A tune played out
Like the last hymn of Psalms,
The words wear me
Like an old Winter coat,
Every syllable
I dang off beat and kiltered
The notes as lovely
As Springtime nuance,
I need no splendor of view
As long as the rich melody
That memory dangled along
I can sing like broken mandalays,
My song which does haunt
And I am grateful
I cant get it out of my head.