Sing to Me

There is a man with deep, dark eyes

Whose fingers are neat

Who has worn-out ties

His shoes are spotless

His tongue stained from lies

There is dirt on his ring

Though the inner band still shines

He is unfamiliar with his child’s cries

 

There is a man with deep, bright eyes

Whose fingers are cracked

Whose socks number five

His shoes caked with mud

His tongue comes out when he smiles

Every morning, he sings

To his dearest darling wife

And he knows well the call of his child’s cries

 

Now I stand here, facing

The -mare and the dream

I sing to my beloved

And she sings to me

We stand at the edge of a canyon and stream

With a fork in the road that much straighter leads

I only hope my boots are muddy and my eyes have crow’s feet

And I hope for a day when every morning, I shall sing

 

Photo by Яна Алексєєнко on Unsplash

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