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Carnival Song

Blogs: #7 of 7

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Carnival Song



Let our drunken rituals

Remember all

Byzantine accuracies

In a detailed demotic

Derived from family battles

Where little understanding

Yields no common ground,

And all you get to sing about

Are Willow Trees...

Willow Trees...

Willow Trees...



As people pass

Illumining the pavement

With motor-scooter sparks

Saddled in unemployment,

Concretized to Lottery

Newspaper hats

That blow away when children

Dressed in Carnival approach

A cotton-candy lunch

Full of waiting age

Nestled in the shadows

Of Willow Trees...

Willow Trees...

Willow Trees...



These costumed children

Have singled out today

As a day of cap-guns and capes,

So grown-up work

Is best forgotten

As hope resides in musicboxes.

An old man grinds

The organ-box

Asking all the while: "Is this

The little death ?

"Does my hand drive the song.

Or do the airs reside

In Willow Trees...

Willow Trees...

Willow Trees...?