minstrely

go ahead
roll me in the dry prune bits and salty taffy
down the hill
rolled by mad fiddlers
another life has passed and that brings sorrow
even unto the moon
the moon
not even a tear
she is a bone
a sad clouded face-
less billboard

moon face
absorbs every sorrow

so i'm rolled down the hill tarred with the sticky salty taffy and dried bits of prune
and as much hay as you like
but i am with the moon
fiddlers know the trap door
and fall through sorrow into joy
a messy bunch of jug handlers
who mop the swollen sky


GO HEAR the song I listened to whist writing this piece. It is an alltime favorite.