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