Zelda

The nurses sneer at jokes, far more than any keep, our lake skims with stones, i check inside again, wonder where we go, to escape the falling rain, each Sunday the wind blows, where we sleep in quarantine, no one needs the scarecrow, we listen for lonely trains, hear their empty echoes, whistle around our pain, when sunlight lifts our moans, we try to swim out deep, won't make promissory notes, the future's not ours to know, with all our daily needs, it's a gambler's last throw, fire burns at our feet.