There is a book and pages that rustle,
A vagabond muse, bewildered
Hiding in the faces of ones that I loved
That sang, that danced, that bled.
There were things; a necklace and a ring.
Dense and comforting but, that could in a trice
Bring a sheen of tears to my eyes;
There were thoughts that flew over the seas
And scattered into blue skies.
I would pick up my heavy hand
I would try to write a few lines
Now, now that's the way literary tears
Cascade, try to understand.
I have the literary blues today
I don't know what I'm going to do
When I'm feeling literally literary
And so very, very weary.
Now, the sun is going to rise
Stars wink and fade, and the words flow
There is a book, and pages that rustle
My words, my dreams and things I don't know.