Preamble: An Ornament of Rhyme

“The Builders” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.

---

T Total Tommy” by Mickey Newbury but listen to Jamie Lin Wilson’s cover

To the sad-eyed, misinterpreted
Hung-up child of clay
So the drunken poet's pretty words
Didn't help you find your way
Was it your mistake for thinkin'
That he was born before his time
Or was it his for thinkin'
He might save you with his flimsy rhyme?

T Total Tommy took a toke of tea
Black cats backin' up a big oak tree
Tick-tocks tickin' out a tune on time
Last words lookin' for a line to rhyme
Saw a fish swimmin' in the seesaw sea
But me, well, I'm only lookin'

I see so many with no place tonight
Their sleepy heads to lay
With pen in hand, I take a stand
I got nothin' deep to say
Some words are better left to whisper
Only to the wind
Some mеn kill with bullets, Lord
Others use a pеn

Sidewalks singin' of a troubled time
Small talks marchin' to a nursery rhyme
Day trippers trippin' on a mornin' high
Stopwatch watchin' for a chance to die
Bad dogs barkin' up an empty tree
But me, well, I'm only cryin'

---

“Waiting” by John Burroughs

Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea;
I rave no more ‘gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.

Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray
Nor change the tide of destiny.

What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap where it has sown,
And garner up its fruit of tears.

The law of love binds every heart
And knits it to its utmost kin,
Nor can our lives flow long apart
From souls our secret souls would win.

The stars come nightly to the sky,
The tidal wave comes to the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high
Can keep my own away from me.