Reunion Monticello

Bones are everywhere, aren’t they? Our families spring from their graves.
Their Sunday Best don’t fit them bones the same way and wine is seeping from
The barrel staves… again
I’m in your tea room toasting lives unchanged (while music’s playing by the
garden’s edge). Outside rusted joints prove souls asleep can flowers blooms
from this vintage? Relative Skeletons nervously shuffle, we glance around
community of our own. Quiet valley drips with hints of laughter. Mr.
Jefferson, can we slip these bones?
And bones are everywhere, aren’t they? What do you think they’d see through
those trees? 'Resurrected Spirits Dancing,' you don’t say?! (The minstrel’s new
arrangement of History)
We danced and drank the sun! It over flowed and washed the past away. We roamed!
Echo! Laughter! Spirits danced a jig around their graves…
…Then came the rain
A garden craves a balance of both (I guess so)
From the garden, they’re all running from the garden, we’re all looking for the
garden. So much to maintain
Bones are everywhere aren’t they? Ghosty spirits dash right past me.
Finding hidden spaces, favored places. Families disperse to there graves
Bones are here to stay aren’t they? We cultivate the bones that we’re of.
Sir, if you caught me drunk on wisdom, would you say I’ve had enough?