Blackbirds
Behind, left in dust, of the old gravel road
is a faint trace of Marlboro and a soft summer wind
Skies burn orange and amber, and a blazing red sun,
that is filtered by a windshield, that's never been groomed
A radio station, has more static than tunes
and the song of the work day are tires, worn thin
The sun's going down, where the road never ends
There's a bend near the hill, where a windmill spins slow
and where dozens of blackbirds create ebb and flow
They dapple the rain clouds, like bats out of hell
then will perch pole to pole, plucking heartstrings, as well
Headin' home there are doves, that will bend every limb,
sittin' high in the cottonwoods, while cocking their heads...
Where a hawk circles low over fields, leveled plain
waiting for thunder to bring home the rain
She waits by the door, beneath light from the porch
It halos her hair, like a torch that she's carried
from the day they were married, in a little white church
that has baptized a newborn, asleep in the crib
He drives an old pickup, with a paycheck so slim
He has sweat on his brow, and grit on his chin
He is bringing home flowers, his heart and his grin
There is smoke in the horizon, from a fire within...
Not far, there is heaven where all reason begins
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"Sing Me A Country Song" Contest:
Resubmitted for Skat's Contest: Premiere Contest: #9
Written : 10/12/13
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