Friday, February 23, 2007

the edge

let me pull my old chair, here to the edge
i feel beautiful in the sun
listening to the mocking birds
making lies for my amusement

i'll serve some country foods
with tea as cold as mamma's breath
and spin a tale or two of my adventures
out in places hidden from the pastor's eye

you'll find me jolly, and ancient as the moon
corrupted by the fools that gave me laughter
so if you stop your silly patter, i may
steal one of your kisses

save your mocking for another thief
you'll not bring down any dreary scents
into my special garden, with walls
that hold your world at bay

and save your unsubtle protests
for a man who might believe
that honesty still plays a part
in anything you touch

i haven't lived to be the fancy fella
who will lose his nerve at heaven's door
i have some secrets that may amuse
someone who lingers for my care

i feel beautiful, here in the sun
though you may think it to be unkind
it leaves no shadows at my feet
as i pull my chair, up to the edge

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