Or is it God’s own plan up in his gallery
creating birds that share a common feather?
A new arrival, Spring’s delicious bud
conceived through love as others have before
is placed into your arms, it is your blood.
a promise for your future, gypsy lore.
The winds of change are whispering to me
my sun remembers where to send those rays
and when the darkness comes (when will it be?)
there always is the moon, he has his ways.
if they’d take a big leakat the end of the weekbut their Dad said no ‘P’ in the ool.So they aimed for the very top rafterbut the peeing then triggered much laughter.Very soon it was plainthat much yellowish rainsoaked their clothes and their bodies therafter.Came the janitor whom they called Master,and his face looked like…
when dew still covers all,and golden rayshighlight the spider’s webthe one that’s always tornwhen first the farmer’s wifegoes through the doorto get the morning’s shareof eggs; each day the spiderbuilds anew, with patiencejust to trap a fly or two.I see the smoke rise now,it re-ally is forest steam,to me though ’tis a signthat all the…
we shall not talk about coronaor corazon to take to bed.We have, on trusted informationlearned that a swine has shed its pisswe’ve got her name, it’s no sensation,we sent her North to old Fort Bliss.She stank so badly, we had to sprayit was a family diseaseand when she left they all did praythat she would…
Er wollte gerne in den Knast,jetzt geht’s ihm an den Kragen.
gives way tofrank befuddlement.It is the brainthat cries for help.In dire need of nutrientsthat are not presentin daily meals of classeslower thanall mankind oughtto tolerate.The father drinks,the mother soon,by being helplessslips into the mad morassof tempting fumesand nothingeven lesswill ever matterin present time,or in an unknown future.There is no family,no one to care and shareyour…
the lovely people.I could name namesand point them out.But what the heckit matters not,for in the endthey’ve gone to buymake-up mascarato fool the world.I’ve only gotmyself, at that.
