Roses? No, I've never seen one
though poets love them deeply.
There's a flower I don't dare mention.
There's a furnace heat in the market place
There's a funeral in town, and everybody's
Red, with dust. And everyone is
Black, in cloth of orange and green.
I'm pink with sunburn
And they're dancing in the drums and cowbells
Bo-deh-deh
Bo-deh-deh
Ka-ri-ki-ki
That was life
That was death
We are dancing
That deh life
That deh death
Ka-ri-ki-ki
Out of town
Down the road
In the sun heat
Bo-deh-deh
Bo-deh-deh
Ka-ri-ki-ki
They stop just outside
My bike stops, and I watch.
The shade there's deeper
the Graveyard Tree
the most gentle of all
bark smooth as silk
leaves of wax
and moss
coolness
and rest.
And the roots are there, growing
over the tombstones
pulling them back to the
earth so tenderly
The smell fills the air
sweet, sweet. So sad.
Those soft white petals
like cream, I can't stand it.
I stand up on the pedals
Dust, wind, and I'm gone. |