I live amongst most merry men,
Bereft of sorrow across the fens
The marshes slow my solemn tunes
That whistle in grasses amongst their dunes
I look upon these indifferent ponds,
A gallant, lonely vagabond
The water asking me to see
What those who live see of me
I ask of you in joyous way
Without deceit to lead astray
What does the earth think of I
When I muse, and hum and lie
I am the man of many words,
Lost amongst the trees and birds,
Silver tongued and light of guilt
How does the earth view,
This little wall of words I built











