Jack the lad

Jack the Lad

By winters light he holds deer
The flowers of spring in his ear
Seeds of wattle for good cheer
Grass growing in a cup of beer

By the full moon days
He builds a grave
For all those taken by winters frost
He holds vigil, plants seeds

He wears a coat of brown leaf leather
Crow feather trousers
A big cowl he uses to dig around
A hat of fine bear skin
Boots of barks of trees long gone

He drinks a acorn cup of mead a day
Then puts it away

Little wrens feathers he collect
Puts them in a mat
Reflects on the days he’s lived
Then walks on to the next lap

Given all that
He once had a black cat
Whose name he can’t remember
But he sometimes thinks it might have been September

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Candle light of mystery

Candles inside my room flicker out
Flames I shared inside my mind
Stored for all eternities wind
Flying among the stars
But to earthly desires I bind

Piano plays inside my car
Empty glass filled with air
Gorgeous hands bloodshot with tar
Pumping heart tear