Dragons are fabled beasts of myth and lore;
and yet, some say they lived in the far past.
And they were noble creatures at their core;
or so said every mage I've ever asked.
They slept on every treasure they'd amassed,
and those hoards were oft-rumored to be vast.
They were adept at soaring silently
on magnificent wings, masters of flight.
And yet, Man treated them violently;
their beheading, the quest of every knight.
And thus, they were hunted and killed on sight;
until no more creatures were left to fight.
St. George once slue a dragon in England;
and He's still renowned for it to this day.
The last of dragon kind, killed by Man's hand,
was a leviathan of silver-grey
that once flew the skies of ancient Cathay;
only to be speared and left to decay.
Though long extinct, destroyed by greed and fear,
dragons were both magical and austere.
I'll never meet Cronkite,
Monroe, Garbo, Einstein, Epstein,
Bogart, Newman,Truman, but
wish I knew what they knew,
known?
wished I'd known,
tenses and I pretend I know them
but
I haven't got a clue as if you
the last of yesterday
know or knew them too.
All the famous folk
they're gone into that sepia
we see in faded photographs,
no one here today to match them,
I
watch them play on Pathe,
inflight movies on the Cathay
line
even after all this time
they still shine bright
for me
The Chinese tend to take the long-term view.
They do things differently in Old Cathay.
A thousand decades, almost to the day,
have come and gone. There’s really nothing new.
While foreigners fixate on Fu Manchu,
The Eastern mind sees things another way.
While we pervert, prevaricate, parlay,
the “chink” prefers to chew, review, construe.
“Since Revolution’s what you like to do,”
some western wag asked Mao in sixty-two,
what of the French?” (Vendée, Charlotte Corday,
the sans-culottes, et cetera.) “Your view?
A triumph, or disaster?” Like Sun-Tzu,
Tse Tung replied, “It’s far too soon to say.”
Sometimes I feel like a castaway;
My sails and rudder in disarray-
A derelict floating past Cathay-
Then marooned on a shoal.
Other times I feel like a stowaway,
Secreted in some musty hideaway,
Watching the world change day by day
From a filthy porthole.
Sometimes I feel like a runaway.
All my pride’s been sanded away;
Hustling for food and somewhere to stay-
Some dark and dank bolt hole.
Other times I feel like I’ve gone astray,
That the best of me’s eroding away.
Dissipating misty yesterday
What’s left of my soul.
(Chorus)
I’d probably feel this way all the time,
If I didn’t come home with you.
Mornings would start with no sunshine,
If I didn’t wake up with you.
All the world’s imperfections,
Objections, and rejections,
Would drown me in dejection
If you weren’t the Copilot of my crew.
There've been time I've felt like I've gone astray.
Each tomorrow's still another day.
I still have time to change my way
To once more feel whole.
I don't have to be a runaway,
A castaway or a stowaway.
With your help I can find my way
And re-find my soul.
If I go to the library each day
and seek out the knowledge there on display,
reading all the newspapers come what may,
and listen to what others have to say?
Then, will I be wise?
If I let the children teach me their way,
drop my inhibitions, and learn to play;
and ask old folks before time slips away,
their secret to keeping doldrums at bay?
Then, will I be wise?
If I study nature's wondrous array
questioning space and the stars as they lay;
or unearth ancient pots made of clay,
recovering treasures of buried Pompeii?
Then, will I be wise?
If I demystify ancient Cathay,
deciphering riddles of yesterday,
and embrace all the prophets when I pray
absorbing all that their teachings relay?
Then, will I be wise?
If I condemn all wars, strife, and melee,
voicing my objections without delay;
upholding truths that I'll never betray,
finding the courage to walk from the fray?
Then, will I be wise?