I’m sitting here, time itching by,
wondering if I’ve got the world, if
as the old folks say, it’s my oyster waiting.
And I’ll crack the shell in two
for some pure white pearl--
but I can’t do anything with that.
Give me dirt on my hands, my face
cake it on my fingernails as I dig in the sand.
Something greater and brighter is there,
but I can’t quite put my dusty finger on what it is.
If I can earn the chance to find out
then maybe I can decide and
sell it, or bronze it, or
write a poem about it.
wondering if I’ve got the world, if
as the old folks say, it’s my oyster waiting.
And I’ll crack the shell in two
for some pure white pearl--
but I can’t do anything with that.
Give me dirt on my hands, my face
cake it on my fingernails as I dig in the sand.
Something greater and brighter is there,
but I can’t quite put my dusty finger on what it is.
If I can earn the chance to find out
then maybe I can decide and
sell it, or bronze it, or
write a poem about it.