3.29.15

dawns bog song versione

tromping my way thru the mushroom field on my way
to see dawn's bog, birdsong overhead, crunching on
the ground where the corn was all dead.
and the grackles fly on up ahead so damn
glad to be back home again 
after such a long fly.
birdsong overhead, crunching on
the ground, fine affair we've had
now that the corn is all dead.

true lady wears the sunlight well
and she genuflects in clover, her knees
are bared to stone ground
where mosses grow and ferns collect
to spout of like dillatentes.

gentleman escorts the shadows from her
face and swears to the rock audience 
the view is finer, and accoustics great
just over there.

tromping my way thru the mushroom
field, on my way to see dawn's bog
new mosses grew thickly in stereo
green enough to be yellow
green enough to be gold.
came across a bone washed clean by
the snow, musta been the shin
of an awfully young fawn.
tromping my way thru the mushroom field
i stopped cus i was in a skeleton field.

and the sun set blues, made a crust like
pie, bake until golden. and the grackles flew
on up ahead so damn glad to be back
home again after such a long fly.