Quartz

Quartz

The quartz rattles, strapped in leather

They say tis’ getting warm, not the weather

The wicker rocks on the Venetian Waltz

A cradle not of child but a bygone quartz

What a pity to be born; what a shame to die

What a pleasure to pen this on a bourbon high

Pleasure it is my friend, to listen the quartz fly

Between the first cry and last sigh

In this ward of life, the visitors are the seasons

Wishing you false hope with rains of reasons

They greet you in turns

Placing on the side table, their fruits and flowers

Pineapples in snow and oranges in showers

But alas my friend

This salt and pepper head is too seasoned

For technicolour radio and age of the reasoned

To ye fresh flesh charioteers I say

Think of me not what I may

Wheels of quartz run those chariots you ride

Ever rambling, ever moving forward, an unstoppable tide

Waits for none, carries but itself, regardless of effort you make

The tracks it leaves behind is the only thing you may take

And soon the tracks be gone and chariot out of sight

Out of mind will depart the mind and itself from itself might

Crooked nihilist, I am not, of what you think I may

Walk those tracks while ye may, is all I have to say

The humble snail leaves behind

What Parisians in Gauloises find

A lustrous track of drunken blood

Of misfit meals and the generation flood

What happened to those who made it happen

The flattening soda and  rock n roll autumn

What of the lost souls that are no longer lost

Found in niches like ice in frost

The harvest of season past

Shall mock the shiny seeds at last

And yet the farmer reaps on so fine

So that a distant table in peace can dine

So, dear friend, I am here to say

Befriend the scythe and unrecalled hay

Epochs pass like night and day

But the jingle of quartz is here to stay