DEARBORN ALE
There is a minstrel without any words
he opens the call with a dark
side of blue
his wind is without willow
as he stands by the words
of his father
waiting for the time of the word
to get through to his walker
his time is not sure
he begins with a flow
then stop with a noose
around his head
where it does not handle
a flood of tears
from his eyeless wonder
which is not for him
to choose.
