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love, world wide dirt
Friday, November 28, 2008
My house is made of milestones,
I heard a beggar say.
He never heard of traffic cones
As sure as night is day.
If he would wonder into town
And later wonder out,
Then he would smile on a frown
And laugh at every pout.
His daddy had a little dog.
He loved that thing all up.
It never danced when there was fog
Or drank his master’s cup.
The beggar grew up hot in May
And chilly in November.
And what’d he do on Saturday?
He couldn’t quite remember