My memory of this shady, shady lane
I was placed at its end, that house,
Where no one saw, they didn’t see
The same leaves I saw out my window frame
I can drive down this lane, either end,
Feel the feeling of that oh-seven spring
Though the leaves betray their branches, bare,
I will feel the embrace of my paved friend
When I’m ready to free my sickly potion
Of suspended thought in a moody solvent
I drive to Shady Lane, pour it down
Its autumn gutter, and trees applaud my motion
‘Cause memories can’t be wiped away
Like the drops pulsing on my windshield
For the memories are the drops themselves
Can’t help but notice the few that stay
Down this shady lane.
No comments:
Post a Comment