12,986. OH, SOMETIMES WE CAN....DANCE?

OH, SOMETIMES WE CAN....DANCE?

I never was a shaker for money; never

liked to dance, or even touch others.

Silence was the iron cloak around my

head, and I wore my pestilence like a

scarf.  Miserable times, many mornings.

-

Young or old, mostly we get to do the

same things, no matter. Not like the days

of yore, mind you  -  hanging the jacket

in the backroom entryway after traipsing

back in from the morning-cool barnyard

stretched out behind the house; churning

a pail of milk just to make a butter.

-

Yes, all that's gone. Now, even the fences

are nasty plastic turning green with mold,

and everywhere you move there's something

else just sold. The pleasure of familiarity

has gone away. Lonesome is as lonesome 

does? (Oh sometime can we dance?)...