A Story Sitting There

I saw a story sitting there

On velvet green, a rug so fair

Soft and tender was the floor

That cradled age from roof to door

Broken windows, rich with time

Secret tales, they swirled inside

The walls and fields of richest hues

Busy feet, dancing shoes

Running free, yet fixed indeed

On work at hand and mouths to feed

Wouldn't it be dear to know

More about the long ago

A simple time with charm so rare

That left a story sitting there


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"Every song that I write comes from my own personal experience.  i believe the role of an artist is to interpret reality through a system of beliefs and a long-term seeking of truth, in your own life and in the world at large."  Dan Folgelberg

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