Some Body Waits On Me Poem by James McLain

What kind of girl, does that.
A red winged bird that is black.
Clouds swirling round,
the taller peaks snow racing down
all can hear.

That kinda girl, does all that I heard.
I heard that that girl is fine.
The kind of fine that are big round grapes,
sitting high kind of look, they are
round purple grapes that one finds
on the vine purple and juicy but clear.

Others long before,
men could read or write,
learned the curve
of the road and where it would lead
some have said they died there.