Day two
The pigs are not writing award winning poetry slaughtering them looks like a good idea
Remembrance for Old Pigs Lost

Hold up your brief life and candle let it shine a lantern defying staining the dying hope and light
Shout out Whisper in against the storms that ravage morning and chill night
Be the element that howls rages and sparks against the sail shattered and torn
Do not add salt to sea with your grief
Make boxes out the wreckage of ship against reef
Do not look so grim and forlorn
Take out the drum and pipes dance away in mourning clothes of grey and black
You mourn the death of the king of poetry for you think he is dead
Cause of the red autumn leaves and the blood in the winter tracks
His soul the voice light across dark in page is in echo hallooooo of mountain top and
Is in the whisper of leaves so low
The wisdom I carry in the philosophy and word he gave
He kicks saints in the shin Robs the graves
Jester playing games comes staggering out of pandora box
For hope and jot knows how to pick the toughest locks
Let us raise glass and voice
For its is out choice
To toast and cheer and make merry
For is what you would do
Oh king Iron John
Iron John
Iron John.
Firer of words into spinning clay
With idea and arrows of though well armed
For you we wage war against the waning day
And will tell of our valiant comrade and teller of tales
Till the bones break and voice fails
But even then nothing out lives
Then ink the scratch of your pen
To you Iron John
To you is this poem windinay way
A path that may lie covered in ages
But true as your voice
And word

© 2007 Phil Jagger