Fresh Baked On the Morrow
Oysters jump at an opportunity to die
To be eaten before the tide comes rising
Directly from the sea before the shell
Before the dawn begins to smell of day
In the raw, in the sand, in good company
Is best when frolicking by the happy sea
The pretty girl comes dancing in
In curls of golden locks that spring
Wind fills her dress and mind of hollow
She sings merrily of imaginary beings
From the docks she takes her basket
Full of emptiness for idiots like you
Down winding streets goes Daisy tip toe
Pronouncing words unknown to her
That have meaning only to the lunatics
Lost souls on narrow streets who like to eat
It is a perfect time to sell her wears
A litany of exotic goods on sale
Barked out loud to catch the near by ear
“Hot breads and pies fresh off the fire
To warm the cockles of your heart”
But there’s nothing in the basket but fresh air
Is there a crime or misdemeanor on the streets?
“Fresh baked on the morrow” screamed
But tomorrow never comes it seems
Copyright © Earl Schumacker | Year Posted 2021
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