Millionaires and marionettes
All dance a tattered line
While the petty thieves
Plan their petty thefts
And dream of bigger crimes.
Councilmen yearn to be senators
And senators the king
While a chosen few
Of the lovely marionettes
Long to be the queen.
The dairy farmers all rise
Well before the dawn
While the thrashers
Drive their combines
Long after the sun is gone.
We race the race, it seems,
For thirty thousand days
While all the while
We nurture hope
That we’ll somehow all be saved.
I’m kicking dust
On a forlorn trail
That I walk in the forest alone
And I listen to the music
That nature plays
And realize that this is my home.
On a good day my words are more seminal
But I’ve never had a tune
And often the best that I have to give
Is on the tablet by noon
But it’s just as well
I’ve heard them say
As their petty crimes are planned,
For the mischief one creates
In the deepest dark of night
May cause an enlightened soul
To be damned.