Sunday, February 11, 2007

the lane

there is folded, quite neatly
on the side of the lane
a gentleman's jacket, old tweed
i believe
and full flaring slacks of an
antiquated style
shoes, buffed and polished
but no socks to be seen
a black belt hanging tidily
on the white wooden fence
a gabardine shirt
out of place or quite bold
i'm at a loss just peering
at the sartorial display
it all seems to be waiting
for a gentleman's fancy
on the side of the lane

i may stop for a moment
for it has a small spell
and i'm given to ponder
at inopportune times
should i wait for the jasmine
to lend me its scent
or the moon to come rising
or a silvery bell
there may be woodchucks to gossip
who may know all the long
and the short of this mystery
on the side of the lane

there's a radio playing
across the green field
sweet sadness is drifting
with the wisp of a tale
of lovers who've stopped
to dance with champagne
smitten by dreaming
splashing the dew
on a night in the country
on the side of the lane

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