Dickie

And if a colorful ware she’ll wear,

And if I paint a terrible picture, oh me mine,

And I weave special wonders for your entrails, oh me mine,

Then I will cast away all courage, O Divine,

From the banks of the River Jordan to the colors of the deep sea,

The free green spaces.

And if I stood on the steps of the church and shout Dickie’s name several times:

“Dickie! Dickie! Dickie!”

But no response from Dickie, and no response from anyone,

Then will summer come soothing something sumpter.

And if I stand in the crow’s nest and shout til my lungs are so sore:

“Here, Dickie Dickie Dickie!”

But not one response from anyone, or anything, or anywhat,

Then will winter come winning something wicked.