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Old dark ruby coats his throat Gloves a feathered mind Sharpens up her fountain pen Lays ink down along the table Plaintive, brickyard textbook line Whips her fable down As long as she is able Bang up, wave the weaver's wand Hand against the sky Day is rain so watch things grow Light pours through her window Tack will need a hefty breeze Blow as though can be As long as she is able Here's a loud that turns to wail Salvage bits of wire Holding history blown to hell He'll nod off and she will sing He won't dream while she won't sew Talking never stops Not as long as she is able The next day holds a smell to it Permeates the house Marches into each cold room Stands as long as Sunday Preaches loud as elder ears Years they'll rectify As long as they're able |