| lay down | lay down your weary tune | lay down the song you strum and rest yourself | 'neath the strength of strings no voice can hope to hum | and let the morning breeze like a bugle blow against the drums of dawn | and be struck by the sounds before the sun knowing that the night is gone | and stand unwound beneath the skies and clouds unbound by laws | unbound by laws | and rest yourself 'neath the strength of strings no voice can hope to hum |
February 14, 2008
Weather And A Swear.
Fall lingered well into November before it fell abruptly into seven inches of insulation that just now, January fourth, melted away to still-green yards with a week of mist and rain. An ambiance that of Seattle right here in Iowa’s middle. Clouds sat heavy as old man winter plopped that lazy keister of his right down onto this Midwestern city of ours and sweated that dismal, thick, and damp behind through our new year festivities, switching cheeks to show the moon or sun but only for a moment. Some call it global warming, I just think he’s getting lazy. He and Mother Earth haven’t done it in years.
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