Of the flow'rs the gard’ner sows,
the stateliest of all the rose.
and others, to the gard’ner weeds.
But prettiest of all of these,
The dandelion strives to grow
to find himself beside the rose.
The apple to remind us all,
Every autumn, of the fall.
And 60 beads upon a string
The toll required to make me clean.
Well you may be the rosary,
but I am Adam underneath the tree
And, as I grasp the fruit, I hear my children weep
I will sing the mourning song
if the morning birds would sing along
and I would walk the path with thee
if the wounded beast would let me be
well I may be an anarchist
I lob my words with tightened fists
but poetry is truly found
with chaos six feet underground
Well you may be the architect
to build the walls that I tear down
oh, and steady my hands before they call the hounds
I will sing the morning song
if the mourning birds would sing along
and would you walk the path with me
before the beast doth let me be
And then we’ll grant him peace