1800
In this house are many vines,
Some across, some ravine,
The door that opens always welcomes,
The nature of what the sparrow brings,
As each crumb that falls to the floor,
A partridge bowl is filled once more,
Into the sink they go to wash,
The stains of the broken pot,
In the hour of the many songs they sang,
The last few drops went down the drain,
A mother’s mend to displacing the ties,
A threat to look around the disfigured disguise,
Coming out they all ran,
Sounding like the marching band,
I wish I was a child that day,
Standing in the step of the gangster’s way,
The dancing and the laughter could go around,
As the music played out a funky sound,
U can’t change the time you were lost,
Just know you were pushed into the fire embossed,
If all you can dig is the modern day,
Then you don’t know jack for what love has paid.
