If you can´t stand them
You can´t bless them
If you can´t run off
turn around and bless
very quickly
and all they can hear
is a sort of birdish chirp
unknown to ears
this is the unsung
song of love
that ain´t bothering
nobody
Just give them a face
conceived by wind
as if you know
from a thousand
directions
snow
dishing it out
through days and days
undaunted
snow indeed
waiting for you
and the whirl
you´re in is
a gift,
a curse,
from the unknown
The Circle
turn, turn
you´re safe
you´re leaving
with the
migrating
mig-granted
all of them
that the Government
spent 18 billions a year
to ward off
the birds
that never heard
of final solutions
and no feathers picked
by the taciturn
for the funeral;
Oh, Brother,
wake me,
but late,
to the Gathering
of Strangers,
their
passions or purses
burnt.
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"Synopsis" från Februari -12 i Lappland till Februari -13 i Stockholm.
(Tillfreds med femte versen. Sångbarheten är tydlig i den här texten. Den skulle bli en sång, om jag spelade gitarr. Får väl höra med piano-vännen).
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