What the Ancient Current Carries I
Who’d I say I’m writing to?
My pal whose all a-scramble, down low on the road,
Attempting make of way to a river that flowed?
The answer being nay and no.
Would I be writing away
To that tumblin’ grape going way cross the hill
Covering those scared hearts, yet bound for some painter’s beau?
The answer being nay and no.
Who’d I be writing to if not for you, tender toad?
This to be my dutiful tempt to lap at the shore
Of which ancient current carries word power load.
