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Poem

I went back to the farm seeking Maggie, only to find that she had gone.
Searching for shelter from the storm.
Another sad eyed lady, laid low, who foretold of forlorn love,
and removed my crown of thorns. 

As the evening grew and light subdued, though not dark yet,
a hard rain began to fall. 
A black crow sat on a scarecrow playing his tambourine, 
and all the answers went blowing in the wind.

You realized there are no more alibis, you now know the direction home,
though born far too late.
No longer homesick, you finally untangled it, like a rolling stone,
and blamed that simple twist of fate.

Queen Mary, still in curls, and flag unfurled, 
will always remain a friend to you.  
Your harmonica aches, Just like a woman child breaks, 
Reminding they're all over now, those baby blues.

With hands always busy and feet always swift,
You always wished us a joyful heart.
You taught us that in love, just as in life:  
Sometimes you are the artist, and sometimes you are the art.

A tribute to Bob Dylan on his birthday the 24th of May.

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