Saturday, April 20, 2013

Turn, turn

Bob Dylan or Pete Seeger,
Or even The Byrds stirs
Inside my head
With the change of season
A dial-up menu to
The assorted feelings I feel
Sorrow, pain, guilt
Gladness, and then what?
Is there a season
For being right?
Or wrong?
Or some point in-between
When I discover
A difference?
All the leaves
Are not brown,
And I have no need
To wear a flower
In my hair,
I need no pill to
Make me tall
Or small,
And that the last thing
I needed or wanted
Was love,
But can’t get it out
Of my head,
And that wild horses
Can drag me away,
And indeed it has been
A cold, cold winter,
And it is better to let
Roxanne do whatever
She needs to survive,
And what I need most
To start me up
In a good look
In the mirror,
And maybe
A clean shave
On a green day
When moss isn’t
Growing on
A rolling stone

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