Dawn's Bog by The Artist Bree

Dawn’s Bog written in Pleasureville, KY

tromping my way through the mushroom field
on my way to see Dawn’s Bog
tromping my way through the mushroom field
on my way to see Dawn’s Bog

Birdsong overhead, crunching on the ground,
now the corn’s all dead
Birdsong overhead, crunching on the ground-
fine affair we had, now that the corn
is all dead

A true lady wears the sunlight well
and she genuflects in clover
Her knees are bare to stone ground
where mosses play, and ferns collect
to spout off like dilettantes

A gentleman escorts the shadows from
her face, and swears to the rock audience
the view is finer, and acoustics great-
just over there

tromping my way through the mushroom field
on my way to see Dawn’s Bog
tromping my way through the mushroom field
on my way to see Dawn’s Bog

i came across a little bone, musta been the shin
of an awfully young fawn
said i came across a bone, musta been the shin
til i had to stop-
cus i was in a skeleton field, a skeleton field

may apples bloomed between the ribs
of a coyote in the clearing- them shoots was
greener than gold, and gold enough for me
to say to you they were yellow

i looked the other way, the rest of my young
fawn was posed upon a carpet of spring
beauties- pink and white blooms that appear
first sign of spring, so delicate, in rugged Kentucky

tromping my way through the mushroom field
on my way to see Dawn’s Bog
tromping my way through the mushroom field
on my way to see Dawn’s Bog

and the grackles fly, fly on up ahead, so darn
glad to be back home again after such a long fly,
such a long fly- the grackles fly, fly on up ahead
so darn glad to be back home again after
such a long fly, such a long fly