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Ribbon Bows |
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There is a spring, not far from here, |
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The water runs both sweet and clear-- |
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both sweet and clear, and cold: |
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could crack your bones |
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with veins of gold. |
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I stood, a-wagging, at the tap; |
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just a-waiting on the lagging, rising sap. |
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I held the cold tin ladle to my lip. |
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At the Shrine of the Thousand Arms, |
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I lowered my eyes to sip. |
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What a beautiful day to catch my drift, |
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or be caught up in it. |
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You want your love, Love? |
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Come and get your love; |
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I only took it back |
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because I thought you didn't. |
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How my ears did ring, |
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at the municipal pound, |
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from that old hangdog |
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to which I was bound: |
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curled 'round the bottom rung-- |
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doesn't anybody want you? |
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Well, come on, darlin. |
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I could use someone like you around. |
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I am not like you, I ain't from this place. |
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And I do reserve the right |
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to repeat all my same mistakes. |
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And, in the night, like you, |
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I certainly bite and chew |
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what I can find, |
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and never seem to lose the taste. |
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What a horrible face I feel me make-- |
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For Pete's sake, |
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what you have told me, I cannot erase!-- |
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(Though I keep on saying, |
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and I do believe, it is not too late). |
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All day, you're hassling me with trifles: |
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black nose of the dog, as cold as a rifle, |
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indicating, with a nudge, |
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God, No God. God, No God. |
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Sweet, appraising eye of the dog, |
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blink once if god, |
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twice if no god. |
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My mama may be ashamed of me, |
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with all of my finery: |
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carrying on, |
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whooping it up till the early morn, |
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lost and lorn, |
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among the madding revelry! |
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Sure, I can pass. |
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Honey, I can pass. |
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Particularly when I start to tip my glass. |
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I'll be a sport, |
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and have a go at that old song, |
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singing unabashed, about |
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"Them city girls, |
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with their ribbon bows, |
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and their fancy sash..." |
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But, though I get so sad |
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(could swear the night |
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makes a motion to claim me, |
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around that second verse), |
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I reckon I've felt worse, |
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and still held fast. |
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But, later on, when I am alone, |
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alone at last, |
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then I take my god to task. |
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I take my god to task. |
