Winter’s morning’ Momma…am I going to stay
white bird of spirit in the land of corporate play
I hear the whisperings…the early morning’ trees that say
you’re just a wisp of life and so very quickly blown away
The rustling’ leaves that lay the winter’s crackin’ cold to me
I’ve never been a man who could be anything but free
I love the rustle of these ladies skirts in love
and I like the way their eyes go shining’ round
I feel my inner tide and feeling, a certain pride
calling’ me out to face the wind and winning
I feel this love of life as a deeper sort of knife
some living healing light, some bird of spirit bound
bound for flight.
gallagher
28 nov 78
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
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