The tree sitter of Nantucket
Lived in a tree and he dug it
He never went down
To visit the ground
So he would **** in a bucket

I've got a little black book, with my poems in it
I've got the wind to rock me to sleep
I've got a perpetually dying radio
That brings the news to me
I've got everything I need up in this tree
This tree I live in on my own
I've got books and **** and mobile phones
I've got a little two burner stove
I've got a bright new perspective
And every new day
I know that I'm not all alone
There are squirrels, and birds
And bugs up here
It feels like everybody is home.

I invited the band, to make strawberry jam
On top of Strawberry Rock
They asked me "What time?"
I said "Be there by nine."
They arrived promptly at one o'clock
But once they began, the sea kissed the sand
And the music never stopped.

Wooden spoon, traveling along
A marvelous companion and friend
With knicks and chips and weathered bits
From all the places we've been
Wooden spoon, hand carved with love
Yet longing to be with the forest once more
Thus it fell, from my net
To the waiting forest floor