-Wednesday, April 19, 2006

The days, they blur together

The months, they turn to gold

And it's just an ordinary morning

When you're sitting counting crows

One for sorrow

Two for joy

Three for girls

Four for boys

Five for silver

Six for gold

Seven for a secret never to be told

You've got seven pecking

At your heart

So can't you spread your wings,

And let them fly away?

We are feathered by the babbling brook

We are feathered by our tragic sighs

We are feathered by the whispers

We are fathered by the moonlight

And sometime another little girl

Will sit beneath the tall oak tree

Wearing her youth like a badge

That tarnishes all too soon

And she will be counting us...

One for sorrow

Two for joy

Three for girls

Four for boys

Five for silver

Six for gold

Seven for a secret never to be told...

4:33 pm