Yellow Freedom
*"Yellow is the color of my true love's hair
In the morning, when we rise
In the morning, when we rise
That's the time,
That's the time
I love the best...
Freedom is a word I rarely use
Without thinking, mm-hmmm,
Without thinking, mm-hmmm,
Of the time,
Of the time
When I've been loved"*
Lyrics from 'Colours' by Donovan
~~~
just another old folk rock ballad,
memory wrested from
your years as a young teen lad,
growing up rebel singing in the
Dylan and Donovan first decade
of rock n' roll and revolution
these lyrics, always a fav,
for despite your ability to
mangle a tune,
this one when you sang,
never sounded quite so bad
a precise half century from the first time,
till tonight,
when you once again
caught yourself humming
those two juxtaposed and particular
two stanzas, quiet out loud
the words yellow and freedom,
merge as one, a phrase ripe,
coloring precise,
your present circumstances
*that simple is the finest
in defining us,
and these lyrics are
my simplest truth,
fifty years on*
as the clock nears the 00:00 hour,
the unobservable line
between this one and tomorrow,
between just another day
and one with a poem born,
yellow freedom are words
that define his world
blurry edges,
and for no godly reason on earth,
your become a writer of a
thank you note
entitled, to the title
Yellow Freedom
to whom should this signed note
be addressed,
be delivered,
with a smile and a languid caress?
there's a blonde in my bed,
inches from my head,
so close, why not,
leave it neath her pillow,
for her awakening,
for she stirred in me
an awakening too,
so this one,
*is my simplest truth,
still singing,
fifty years on*
~~~
March 23, 2016
11:53pm
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 12:00 AM UTC
Yellow Freedom
*"Yellow is the color of my true love's hair
In the morning, when we rise
In the morning, when we rise
That's the time,
That's the time
I love the best...
Freedom is a word I rarely use
Without thinking, mm-hmmm,
Without thinking, mm-hmmm,
Of the time,
Of the time
When I've been loved"*
Lyrics from 'Colours' by Donovan
~~~
just another old folk rock ballad,
memory wrested from
your years as a young teen lad,
growing up rebel singing in the
Dylan and Donovan first decade
of rock n' roll and revolution
these lyrics, always a fav,
for despite your ability to
mangle a tune,
this one when you sang,
never sounded quite so bad
a precise half century from the first time,
till tonight,
when you once again
caught yourself humming
those two juxtaposed and particular
two stanzas, quiet out loud
the words yellow and freedom,
merge as one, a phrase ripe,
coloring precise,
your present circumstances
*that simple is the finest
in defining us,
and these lyrics are
my simplest truth,
fifty years on*
as the clock nears the 00:00 hour,
the unobservable line
between this one and tomorrow,
between just another day
and one with a poem born,
yellow freedom are words
that define his world
blurry edges,
and for no godly reason on earth,
your become a writer of a
thank you note
entitled, to the title
Yellow Freedom
to whom should this signed note
be addressed,
be delivered,
with a smile and a languid caress?
there's a blonde in my bed,
inches from my head,
so close, why not,
leave it neath her pillow,
for her awakening,
for she stirred in me
an awakening too,
so this one,
*is my simplest truth,
still singing,
fifty years on*
~~~
March 23, 2016
11:53pm
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