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Parsonsfield
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Country Pocket
there's a little country pocket
where we'll spend most of the rest of our lives
we'll raise a little family
wipe the tears from our children's eyes
and we'll write little notes for posterity
that no eyes shall look upon
save you and me
that lazy sun is drifting
it falls down like a drunk man to his knees
the moon, a spying eye
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rolling on the silhouetted trees
and our old dog is running away
towards the spot where my father lay
return to the clay
let us take what we need from the garden
give the love we have until it's gone
leave the paintings of our mothers to our daughters
let our histories guide us on
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