|for my imaginary ex-girlfriend|
This, indubitably, isn't the song
Sung by the defiant little bird
Which would not learn from the long
Tale of the colorful-tailed dead
Parrot; an ancestor who wouldn't see
The hungry guns prowling 'neath the tree.
.
This, in lieu, is a sweet song
Sung sorrowfully by a son
With the best mother among
A thousand in the world; a son
Who is now a restless leaf, broad,
Carried far from home by a running flood.
.
Seeing the sun is a flashback
To your smile, and your eye,
Feeling the flowers is a giant lark
Flying reminiscences of the blue sky
And things done 'neath its gaze
When I was your man in the haze.
.
(c) Litterateur Sam George Mac.
2018.
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