Blue Buses And Fresh Dill

This is a poem my father wrote shortly before his death in 1999.

 

I’m wearing hand-me-down clothes.

The glasses fall off my nose.

So I’ll take one giant leap at the moon.

I’m wearing hand-me-down clothes.

The glasses fall off my nose.

 

If it would only slow down,

I’d sure take that blue bus to town.

Time will come when blue buses

Will roll around heavenly stars.

Full midnight chants will split your pants,

And you’ll put up fresh dill in green jars.

 

I’m wearing hand-me-down clothes.

The glasses fall off my nose.

So I’ll take a long step to the moon

We’ll take one giant step at the moon.

I’m wearing hand-me-down clothes.

The glasses fall off off my nose.

 

If you ever pass by this way,

Bring the pipe made out of red clay.

We’ll fill that ole bowl and we’ll smoke,

And cloud up the room ‘till we choke.

Then we’ll climb to the top of the hill,

Where night air is sweet as fresh dill.

 

I’m wearing hand-me-down clothes.

The glasses fall off my nose.

So I’ll take a long step to the moon.

We’ll take one giant leap at the moon.

I’m wearing hand-me-down clothes.

The glasses fall off my nose.

 

Gene S. McLaughlin 1999

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