The Poet

The Poet

Saturday, September 18, 2010

The Bee Is In The Shoe (for my daughter) by Ronald S. Porter

When the leaves of sorrow start to fall-
and, you take down lovers' pictures from the wall
and the bathtub is full of strangers;
When nothing seems to ring true;
Its time to grab your hot cross buns
go upstairs, and clean your guns
because baby the race is almost run
and the bee is in the shoe.

If all your friends forget your address
and all priests come to your house, to confess
should every dime cost you a dollar
If the rednecks all start feeling blue;
Throw your principles in a sack
move real fast, out the back
nobody's going to cut you any slack
'cause the bee is in the shoe.

When surrealists come through your window panes
and your favorite songs all contain sad refrains
Then existentialists get stuck in your chimney flue
when monkeys dance in debauched revel
and pediatricians circumcise on the bevel
and you can't get straight using a level
you know the bee is in the shoe

when everybody is faking the funk
and you can't find your groove
the bee is in the shoe my friend
Then you know, you got to move!

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