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.
