Saturday, May 7, 2011

A time when making money was a matter of choice

A time when making money was a matter of choice:
I walked as an old man out of the woods to sell
Those things He placed in my way of living, in the woods
I do not look for things to sell, they look for me
And find me in my forest nook of carven trees.

I walk back home with pockets full of treats
That in their useless charm remind me of a woman's touch.
The touch of a woman was something rare. And bought -
Oh, to only have to give dollars in return for love -
It was something I wouldn't get caught up in.

And now, in times of two lovers (bear with me now)
Gazing into each others eyes and demanding to be loved back,
In these times of her dancing in the pleasure of belonging to me
And in her sleeping with the comfort of owning me, I dream
Of the time I belonged to no body.