Babushka

A babushka hugs the splendid gray,

Her heart so pure, her mind so lay,

Petite woman with a wrinkly face,

In her mellow arms I seek solace,

She sang to me, she wept with me,

On unknown streets, I stroll merrily,

Her eyes so wet, her eyes so pure;

For any dread, they were the cure;

A squally anxiety churns within;

As she declines into the daily din;


The jaded piano man looked at me,

His tired fingers create her melody;

Her furrows break, a blessed smile;

World can wait for this one while

Fervent hands summon me to her;

Killing men and ladies in rich fur;

Making love to the sanctified floor,

Her spirits dance to her joyous core

In a briefness as she sheds her coy;

This jaded piano man found his joy!


Anxious eyes still angry yet morose;

Curse the hour the lively clock froze;

The day she did not cry, I wept alone

Amidst the loudness, amidst the moan

The piano pouted as the melody died;

Footprints gulped by the hungry tide;

Taken away on a flying white mare;

Left embittered by His decree unfair;

I wipe my tears with her fragrant scarf;

Consoled by the seagulls of the wharf;


In a queenly night, the crickets sang,

A window creaked, the chimes rang;

Like a wild stroke on canvas of time

Golden shadow in darkness sublime;

The fireflies formed a divine shape,

Golden fairy beckoned me to escape,

To a far land over the darkness so shy,

On the brightest star in the whole sky,

In the palatial gardens of Shangri-La

Feeding the swans is my babushka!