Please dear nodding muse
forever washed by June storm
…then, a rag, dried out!
come, give me a word!
…a jazz chord!, a caw of crow
singing in the South!
Forgiven, these riffs!
…stupefied in summer heat
and made pure by Sun!
Please dear nodding muse
forever washed by June storm
…then, a rag, dried out!
come, give me a word!
…a jazz chord!, a caw of crow
singing in the South!
Forgiven, these riffs!
…stupefied in summer heat
and made pure by Sun!
Transubstantiation for a summer situation. – mh clay