the man who's let to divvy up



only lets it shine for hours





a comical where's the end parade

of the sort people here would think unusual


far off we sail on to Back O' The Moon

Jenny you don't know the days I've tried

telling backyard tales

so to maybe amuse

o your mood is never giddy

if you smile I'm delighted

but you'd rather pout

such a lazy child

you dare fold your arms

tisk and say that I lie

there's one rare and odd style of thinking

the small step and giant leap takers

got the head start in the race toward it

far off we sail on to the Back O' The Moon

that was a sigh

but not meant to envy you

when your age was mine

some things were sworn true

morning would come

and calendar pages had

new printed seasons on

their opposite sides

o the man who's let to divvy up

lets it shine for hours

out of tin ships jump the bubble headed boys

to push their flags into powdered soils and cry

no second placers

no smart looking geese in bonnets

dance with pigs in high button trousers

no milk pail for the farmer's daughter

no merry towns of sweet walled houses

here I've found


not here

I've found