Effeuiller la Marguerite. Words by Ben Carr One lightly lit lamppost, no thought was despite A man and his mongrel were no one tonight Those trusting companions revered for their sight Necessity nulled when this world’s lacking light That lightly lit lamppost which hovers above A bastion of safety, an olive branch dove But getting down to it, when push comes to shove What more is a lamppost than shadow’s first love And what more is darkness than shadow of all And what more is progress without wherewithal And what more is pride if a loss must befall Ah, that one brings things that I’d try not recall ~~~ Retracing his footsteps to where this did start An odd pile of petals torn down from his heart They’ve faded like pre-post-pop-pastoral art His yoke overborne; his oxeye torn apart But don’t get him wrong he’s been broken a while The eye that he tore is what’s left of the pile The world on his shoulders, well that’s just his style His shoes aren’t that bad if you just walk a mile But walking a mile, even that’s not his game He’s under this lamplight like nothing so lame It’s not like he came here in search of some fame Although I’m here watching, I don’t know his name But what’s in a name, either famous or nought Just knowing of someone’s not giving them thought Just wanting for something won’t make it then sought Just teaching yourself doesn’t make you self-taught ~~~ The dawn was the door to what day had in store He saw only darkness, the same as before But still, he reached down, to retrieve from the floor For what more’s a man than the petals he tore
30
