The Twain

If I’d been born on a bracin’ morn
In some,
Cort County May.
I’d-a-forded the flood on a chestnut stud,
Just to steal your sweet smile,
‘Cross the windswept spray.
But the only ties,
Between Irish and I,
Is a sad-eyed lament,
And a dead pint of rye.
We live in a time,
Where the love meets the lie,
And we fall fast in love with the lie,
You and I.

If stones I had laid in a gradual grade,
On some Egypt,
Desert dune.
I’d-a-stole me a night and staved the asp off his bite,
And kissed quickly that breast,
Not a second too soon.
But a gravel rock pile,
And a crocodile smile,
Are as close as I’ll come
To a Queen on the Nile.
We live in a time,
Where the love meets the lie,
And we fall fast in love with the lie,
You and I.

If tomorrow could shine like the truth on the vine,
And we could taste it,
Not in vain.
If such sweetness were fresh – never more withered flesh,
Never more to be cursing,
The Sun for the rain.
Yes, if darkness were light,
And my joy not your fright,
We could shed these sad shrouds,
And dance naked all night.
We live in a time,
Where the love meets the lie,
And we fall fast in love with the lie,
You and I.

 

“The Twain” appears on Living and Dying in the Coffee Generation.


© and ℗ 1988 Marques Bovre