I Am Just a Bird
I am no poet just clear water reflecting sky
I have no words just wind in me seeking
A place to lie. My songs are echoes of the eye
Of children walking where they fallowed rye
Old rye has strange effects on the intellect
Cooked on fires of history there's no neglect
Of protein and energy for the brain
O but rye in the sun, in the sun, where children
Play, like alcohol a vision stained
Scramble the ladder against the air of heaven.
O I am no poet, nor editor of the word
Winds billow over the sea, and I'm just a bird
O children in the rye, does the hunter comes
I am just a bird where the echo drums.
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