Perryman
Around the clock and around the block,
Is a world soaked in madness.
Around the stock, beside some rocks,
Is a boy broken up by sadness.
For around the bend past some hens,
Is a place too alien for him,
Because he will never send to this mysterious end
His curiosity to fathom.
Overriding temptation of an extraordinary nation,
Are the words his father told.
"Pass the eight-point one I shot with my gun
Is a world so cruel and cold."
Staring into the grim of the autumn wind,
the boy watches the swaying buck.
Wishing of the breeze that he could sprout some wings
And fly away with the squawking ducks.
He doesn’t understand why his father demands
That he stays enclosed at the farm.
What he doesn’t realize, in his father’s eyes,
Ts that the man really means no harm,
And if he passes on and his son is gone,
Then the mans only prize will fade.
Though he loves his son and wants him to live on,
The farm is all he ever made.
But he can’t demand that his son not not expand
To a world so vast to explore.
For maybe his son will be the one
That can end all needs for war.