A Tribute to Morrison
To the east an occidental wind blew,
casting with it blankets of reed red weeds,
carried with it a song anew
Of a New world of black and blue.
Drink this,' said the mother to her child,
dressed up like Miss Piety, and singing,
that song of Life's brew, brown like coffee,
and Earth. The Child lay dead, O' dear beloved.
Iron-Chains, half venom less not anymore,
Orders of past and present- stick like eyesore,
slick like blackened blue. To This World.
Hail to the Moon! Moskva and Amrica,
Cold it was and became colder still,
Tonight however, I lament Beloved Thee!
© 2006 T.Prabhakar. All Rights Reserved.
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