My mother’s told these stories at least a hundred times,
the ones ’bout how she knew that I’d lead a life of rhyme.
She says the radio was playin’ and the sun was in the sky
and she was washing dishes. I was only two feet high.
Had my hands around the crib bars and a diaper round my tush
when I pulled up with my arms and gave my legs a push.
A song was on the radio. It was a guitar playin’ man
and something in those chords made me want to take a stand.
It’s the dance she best remembers, the way I bounced and swayed,
and she says she can’t forget what she told herself that day.
She said, “Mary, don’t you worry none about that little boy
cause he’ll always have a song to fill his heart with joy.”
Hmmm, more to come.