I took my drum and beat it
. I took my drum and beat it as they say
-sounding like I had a tambourine in my pants!
I reasoned that some ferocious sublimation on the esplanade was on the menu.
It might do me a whole lot of good,
maybe not for my aching eyes;
no that be a wonderful tonic, but to help clear my cracked head.
It was going on Ten a.m.
I had to break away
The day was beautifully mild,
a sweet smoke hung in the air like a mothers bedtime song,
I saw it spit from tiny black exhaust pipes beyond tar syrup rooftops,
the cranes that sit in the harbor mist, and ancient brick smokestacks.
The leaves had already started their metamorphosis turning like clockwork, falling like butterflies; falling like the leaves of the calendar twisting like the gears of the clock face.
It was autumn! I felt it in the swells of my guts "perfect day for cycling". I wanted to get a quick bite to eat
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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