ROLLING IN THE HAY

ROLLING IN THE HAY

Summer is a carnival,
The flowers painted ponies in a lover's eye,
The wind like the sound of a pealing bell,
Clouds like cotton candy in the sky,
A ticket to joy in a wishing well.

Carousels and ferris wheels like streamers in the heavens,
Good Year blimps in happy minds.
Eating hot dogs with a smile and laughing all the while,
Smiling children are all ears, to catch the secrets of the mimes.

Silent, wavy and seductive blow the stalks
Near old man Jenkins' rusty barn,
As we pass daily on our walks,
Holding hands and locking arms.
You, my man, more beautiful than lightning in a jar,
You so unbelievable, my fish story in a crowded bar.
All my mischief, all my plans,
Reverberate like an old time cowbell,
A clarion call throughout the land,
Pearl in an ocean, pebble in a nutshell.

So, oh what the hell, the doggies are a'fucking,
The geese are a honking and the ducks are a'clucking.
The meadow is silent and old man Jenkins is resting in his tomb,
Your tight blue jeans they bulge in front like a wistful mother's womb.
Come with me past the sheep and the rushing of the creek,
Silently accompany me and we shall find just what we seek.

For how I would love rolling in the hay,
Scaring the field mice out of the way,
Feeling your hair, soft like the day in my fingers,
The joy and the feel of you lingers,
Like a clear and clarion church bell,
You the summer's savior,
My ticket in a wishing well.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED