Late the other day when the earth turned away
|
I found a little book [?] in the grey
|
[?] flower drawn like a child on the cover
|
It was the story of the raven and the mushroom man
|
He was the first real friend he ever had
|
|
I never want to be like that serious man
|
Telling himself he is serious
|
Always counting those numbers
|
He's got a red face and a mushroom head
|
He's been too long in the rat race
|
Too long in the dead days
|
|
If only a raven with a sore wing
|
Could fall at his feet with eyes full of mercy
|
The little mushroom man might fashion
|
A little splint out of driftwood
|
And he might feel a little light shine
|
He might see his own kindness
|
And think that maybe counting isn't everything
|
Maybe there are more ravens that need me more than numbers
|
|
The mushroom man loved the raven so
|
And deep inside his heart grew a thing called hope
|
One Sunday night the raven was weak
|
He didn't wake up and the mushroom man weeped
|
Caused his planet to leak
|
|
Well he buried his friend and he buried his books
|
He looked out to space and his head he shook
|
As he looked out across the escape
|
A sapling rose grew from the raven's grace
|
From the raven's grave hope had sprung
|
He knew then how it had been done
|
As he tended to the raven's wing a seed of hope had grown within
|
And now it grows for all to see and his planet is no longer just he
|
|
-----------------
|
The Story Of The Raven And The Mushroom Man
|
Lisa Mitchell |