Well the bar in our little valley
gets loud as the sunlight goes
we’re one big drunken family
and each one everyone knows

old Bev gets highly animated
her eyes narrow to slits
she shrieks like a queen eagle incarnated
giving us all laughing fits

and she was the one who noticed first that night
that a stranger stood in the door
and she turned and let out a curse at the sight
“what you #@!$#! come here for?”

and we all got quiet as an old churchmouse
as he came the rest of the way in
there were patches on his open blouse
there was a beard upon his chin

from his back, without a wait, deftly he unslung
a guitar painted white as angel wings
and this is the tale that he then sung
as his hands drifted over the strings

“I’ve heard it told that wherever you go
Is where you’ll surely be.
I call that true, and that’s how I know
I’ve been to the end of the sea…

Way out there along the rim
At the brink of the abyss
Where even brave hearts fear to swim
In the final waterfall’s hiss…”

Bev, she was supremely unimpressed
she stretched out her long old eagle’s neck
cast withering looks both east and west
and cried out simply, “Check!”



The Sunday Whirl


Sunday’s Whirligig