I used to keep a bell jar
full of old fine fishing line
arrowheads, gold coins
and stuff not easy to find
like cherry cured shine from
my mountains of Tennessee
buried in a lunch bucket
twelve paces from the coop
waiting for the moon
who took his own sweet time
slower than a long night
listening to the same hoot
of the same old hoot owl
in the same old dying tree
knowing it was the end
of my days on the Creek
me, I could see it coming
like a dead star's light
from so long ago
I couldn’t possibly know
which old road I’d follow
so holler at me my
friends, my loves
from time to time
wherever you be
whenever your heart strings
are feeling a need
to tell this spirit of mine
your sorrows, your joys
or wishes for
better tomorrows
and I will from somewhere
be there with open arms
and ears and a heart
sewn tight with that jar
of invisible string
that binds our lives together
forever and longer than that
light from a dead star still
burning on shining so bright.
Keep on rocking in a free world, my friends.
And james, you old coot, yes you, put back on that black beret that looked so cool and get your *** back here to write HP some lines of your fine poetry.
