Populist Elegance. William E. Scholz

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      You saw me dancing to your favorite song,

      And said, "Where do the wild roses grow?"

      Love, is a wicked game, is a ...

      Chance crossing off the beaten path,

      Is, literally, the best feeling in this world.

      I kiss him on the cheek,

      It’s all so fleeting,

      Like the memory of a half-ghost,

      Barely imperceptible,

      But constantly there.

      Where do they grow? The Wild Roses?

      They grow in my back yard,

      They grow on the corner of a Boulevard

      Of Broken Dreams,

      In places that you would least expect.

      They grow in the fields,

      Do you remember the fields?

      The infantrymen marched on those fields

      During wars and revolutions past.

      But they didn't wear Apple headphones.

      Those infantrymen and women

      Played no music before battle

      Besides the little drummer boy

      Or a winter hymnal sung

      Soft and sweet and broken.

      Her melody was like that,

      A melody that you'd hear before battle

      In your Apple headphones,

      In your mind's eye,

      In that voice telling you softly, one command is love.

      Its war or revolution they say,

      We'll all be on that battlefield soon,

      You can feel it in the winter's air,

      See the marchers just imperceptibly enough

      Through the fields of the past and tomorrow.

      But Baby, I'll be Moving Mountains for your Love.

      The Truth is that we're all that we got.

      Maddie

      Maddie, what will the world do to you?

      What will you become?

      Will you have the strength,

      To sew it all together?

      To do so, you must look in the mirror,

      And confront it all without guilt,

      Fear, and dishonesty. Truth.

      The Golden Needle,

      Is in your palms,

      You are a weaver,

      You are a girl, a woman, a Mother.

      Close your eyes,

      And put your finger to your Temple,

      What do you see?

      Do you see the threads of reality?

      What hangs by a thread?

      Who hangs by a thread?

      Go to him,

      Don't wait like I did.

      Love, is what we all hang by.

      You will see Love, Maddie,

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