Who owns the words that tell you my story,
Who keeps the rhythms, who sells the rhymes,
Who knows the where-ofs and why-fors and so-whats,
Who’s heard my weeping voice time after time?

What do I do with an untold life story?
Wrap it up softly then throw it away.
Are there boxes for keeping the old fading mem’ries
Of times past and times spent and gray yesterdays?

Who will listen? I call out and ask the wind gently.
Who can hear me? I whisper though no one replies.
I am trapped here, a stranger in green shining meadows,
Alone in the world under threatening skies.

All around me life whirls in a dance unfamiliar,
Only I stand immobile not knowing the song.
As my feet tap I long so to join hands together,
And dance till the music is finally gone.


One thought on “Storyteller

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