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Pree
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Maybe We'll Row
Tell me how many times
they've called and you've stared
into the nothing pot
Where nothing ever seems to rot
with talk of what had fallen there
But unhappy marbles, let's be fair:
Your ups are garbled, and no such pie
could call its humble home the sky
and insist we met in passing
when my fingers were too wide
but they don't spread so far, and so,
you know you must have grown there
from below
Where are we in the hour glass?
Where are we in the sand?
Busy churning while the hours pass
I'm learning of the jam
in its vicious waist
in the cinch it makes
in the middle
We had time until we didn't
Now it's something that
we're much too big
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to chase—
But maybe we'll go
one by one a ways
Maybe we'll row
single file awhile
And maybe I'll know you,
one of those days,
on a southern shore
of a sandy plain
Maybe we'll go one by one aways
Maybe we'll row single file awhile
And maybe I'll know you,
one of those days,
on a southern shore of a sandy plain
below the glass, while someone laughs
and cries:
'Unhappy marbles, let's be fair:
Your ups are garbled, and no such pie
could call its humble home the sky'
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