Walking with a sack of stale bread
and a tattered quilt across my arm,
I can see the running river
flowing with the essence of your songs.
I can see the snowy peaks behind me
making rainbow arcs across the sky.
There within a flowered meadow I wait...
And as I do I scatter crumbs,
feeding all the young birds passing by.
I know each word that you have written
and see each place in my mind’s eye.
I’ve stood barefoot beside your empty bed,
and let my long hair blow across my brow,
waiting for those soft wet kisses.
I’ve even made my eyes the smoky lady,
hoping I would catch your own.
I’ve walked the road that you once walked.
I’ve stood below the room you chose…
waiting for that boy and the first notes of a chord.
I’ve walked the beaches that you’ve walked,
watching footprints fade away,
and wondering all the while if mine were yours just yesterday.
I’ve followed trails that led to nowhere
and trails that led to you…
a minute too late or maybe even years.
I’ve seen the streets of cinder,
and waited for that morning light,
while you sing ‘oh yeah…maybe…could be’
forever in my head.
Most of all, I see that young girl
watching from a brown twilled seat,
and recall the very moment
she gave her heart away…
to a man she’d never meet.
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