The Ramblers Poem by Mark Heathcote

The ramblers they're out gambling
They've left their valleys to dream
They've left their shepherdesses in the field
Beneath a full vacant opaque moon
Howling, how long will I be here alone?

The ramblers they're out again gambling
Whilst their good women are going
Quietly ragingly mad
Wondering where the hell they might be
Where could he be again tonight?

They sit on a porch in the violet light
As it dims out of complete sight
As the day's chaos lingers slowly way
He's out chasing his rainbows
With all those other barroom fools.

The ramblers they're out gambling
Scratching a midlife crisis an unholy itch
Calling you a—B
Well I won't speak it of course cause
You're the only winnings they'll ever take home.