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Brass Bag

April 2, 2016

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.

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