The Ritual of Singing.

The Ritual of Singing.

Some ordinary gray day,

I eloped into Sweden,

A force of rich intoxication,

Full of love of fornication.

Such a splendid quiet location,

I began to sing aloud,

To a woman sitting in a chair,

The look of passion in her hair.

Did I really treat this stare,

With the respect it deserved?

Or had I chosen singing out,

That sounded like a drunken shout?

She stood and gave me such a clout,

For deafening her quiet day,

And stealing kisses from her mouth,

Where all desire was going south.

Sing much louder in the house,

With joy for all and beauty's light,

Know that all I'd want to do,

Is carry on the task of loving you.

You were shiny bright and new,

Before I learned your hidden side,

Then hell couldn't hold me down,

With stinging wreath a thorny crown.

Sell me not a pouty frown,

I wanted more from honey dew,

To taste the fruits of paradise,

See crystal dreams within your eyes.

Sing as if your life will rise,

To meet the Cockerel’s call,

Fantasize of what you'll hold,

And take it before you get too old....