here, here is how, how i come by the words, words to tell you
all of the fine feathered things i've been meaning to tell you
first i empty my head of its eiderdown and of its air
then i bang on my guitar, let the feathers fly everywhere
they fly away, fly away
like a flock of black quill pens
if they only flew like emily's, you'd love them better then
'tis better i should die than not see you on my birthday
better i should rot than not kiss you on my bed
dickinson, i'm sure, would have never put it that way
so i guess i better find a better way to say what i just said
o your eyes are as blue as the new fallen snow at twillight
and your locks are as black as the black raven's looks at midnight
and your mind's quite as sharp as the icicles under the eaves
but your heart is too warm and too dear to be believed
please believe me, my darling, i do the best i can
with an eiderdown mind, a guitar and a ball point pen
when our summers have flown and the geese are gone again
i will still, still be singing, and singing you love songs then
© 2004 paula pryce