on the stream of life, i was a water lily
and on it's street, the heat
that rose up from the railway

in the hazy spring, newborn fawns
that bucked and singed
a thousand unheard of songs

and in the time in between
i've been far too many a thing
for it has worn on me
like bricks chipped by the cold of winter
or yellowed grass from drought,
a finger with a splinter

i'm not broke
though i am poor
i've got so much planned
so much still in store