Once I thought -
Singing is for sitting
On a limb
Or in dust of road edge.
And I thought -
Songs do not come from
Gasping throats
In air astride toiling wings.
Once I thought -
Fighting is for standing
On planted feet
Nimble behind solid shields.
And I thought -
Battles do not come from
Overstuffed chairs
In the clean ordered tower.
But I think I hear -
Songs blasting as pointed hail
From gentle clouds.
Crow calls crash my ears.
I think I see -
Wars waging from poet's desk and
Chair. Fighting and
Music from everywhere.
Singing is for sitting
On a limb
Or in dust of road edge.
And I thought -
Songs do not come from
Gasping throats
In air astride toiling wings.
Once I thought -
Fighting is for standing
On planted feet
Nimble behind solid shields.
And I thought -
Battles do not come from
Overstuffed chairs
In the clean ordered tower.
But I think I hear -
Songs blasting as pointed hail
From gentle clouds.
Crow calls crash my ears.
I think I see -
Wars waging from poet's desk and
Chair. Fighting and
Music from everywhere.
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2015/8/4 - 15:10
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Parole e musica di Billy Edd Wheeler
Testo trovato su Broadside # 62, Sept. 15, 1965