(This short rhyme was inspired by something that Neil Young said on Radio 4 last week, when asked about whether his classic albums Harvest and After the Goldrush were likely to become the folk songs of the future. The title was his modest summation).
The words arrive like meteors,
and songs come from the earth,
they hit my brain
like heavy rain
new folklore given birth.
I don’t spend time rehearsing,
it comes together fast,
pure rhythm springs
across these strings
with anthems built to last.
I know this is my golden time,
none can do me harm,
ethereal
material
the muse is on my arm.
One day I’ll give the girl away,
the harvest will be mine,
these silver frets
have no regrets
it was my time to shine.
© Graham Sherwood 6/2012
