Brass Bag

Pressed to find the brass bag; yellow from glimmer and heavy from gold.  Shining like a light above you, up in a window for hours I’m told.  Dancing sounds of birds among us, stretch their wings both far and wide.  Not a rock unstoned, or brick unturned, even carrots run and hide.  Way, way down, past rivers and oceans.  Lives an old sail’sman, with a dog I’m suppose’n.  He woke up each day, to Lay Lady Lay, a classy little number, and a jam for the ages.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: