(1974)
Rewitten many times, same message. Author name: JEF ... James Everett Falcon
I lost my Muse the other day It just spread its wings and flew… And I’m not quite sure where it d… When it breached that vision of fa… It has left before but it came bac…
In grade-school, I was told about Two Planets That collided, out in Nothingness. They said, “That is the reason
The disconcerted Porcupine, Waddles it’s way across the manicu… Paying no mind to the Calico Cat That learned it’s lesson weeks ago… Mockingbirds chase their siblings
Should death be a shadowed face Covered in a sheet of black, Or a valley filled with painful du… For the strength that I once lack… What is death, just another step?
On a gray and dingy Cloud filled day Came a Rider of Storms On a reddish-brown Bay She has lightning in her quiver
In the morning mist the sky was ki… With tiny sparks from a wooded rod The power was shy, those sparks to… Not like the power from the hand o… Those magic places in those mystic…
In the evening, in the twilight,… Of the coming of an age in parody Then I see another vision based o… But in the end, there is a song of… Scarlet red finds its way into my…
In Among the roses There are odd ones You can see them Now and then
He stands on the edge of windy cli… Where images and shadows seldom bl… He closed his eyes to sees beyond; Beyond the whispers and the wind. Then he stretched himself, as if t…
It took seventy years to figure ou… That life scatters truth, left and… And those first thirty years, refl… Were shades of dull, with times of… There were some so good, and some,…
The old man stands on the cliff’s… Trying to make the words and music… He closed his eyes to see further Just beyond the whispers of the wi… Then he stretched out his arms and…
What can I say about a Rainbow That has never been said before; Or the emotional wonder of a star… That array of lights on heaven’s d… How do I express a mountain breez…
I was drawn to a drawing On a tent Was a face A Blue-eyed Gypsy In a Black Shawl of Lace
How many sounds do you hear in her… And what is the color of her soul… Do you see her in the blazing oran… Or in the hope that comes a-dancin… Does the song she sings remind you…
Grandma has a washtub And she calls it Belly-Round, It’s extra thick, galvanized, And it’s never let her down. Sometimes it’s a stool