Folk Music
He was like, Bob,
and she was like, Joan,
and I introduced them
to Leonard Cohen
whom they found exotic
like tea and orange
and faded blue denim
was covered by raincoats
they carried in bags
all the way from West Bromwich.
He began to speak softly
and slowly with meaning
and she no more ironed
her hair at the table
or turned up at weekends
to protest at something.
Their voices were rivers
ran deep as The Bible
they could have been bigger
than Barry McGuire
but fell under the spell
cast by last year’s man
and the sisters of mercy
were laughing and crying
until there were no more
grapes on the vine.
And so by and by
the circle was broken;
love was just
a four letter word
and the masters of war
died at their own chosen speed.
Ray Miller hasn't got a day job.
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