The father is gone,
the son is shipped on,
and the holy ghost is saying his prayers.

He builds with bricks
and she builds with sticks,
for everyone knows a straw house falls
when lacking walls.

Dip me like you hold your guitar;
upside-down you can’t see the stars;
counting streetlights tells you how far
away from the storm you are.

I can’t tell fireflies from satellites
or a swirling sky from the Starry Night,
but I can see the battle right
along the edge of your sword.

Between the covers
tales of lovers
‘twixt “once upon a time” and “the end”.

Who is the prince?
Where has he been since
the tower was built and my hair has grown long,
sold for a song?

Lie asleep in mid-afternoon;
winter waxes well into June;
counting clouds above my cocoon,
awaiting the monsoon.

I can’t tell sprinkles from showers,
but I’ll be an expert in ten thousand hours.
And I don’t need higher powers
if I have you.