Scratching the 17-Year Poetic Itch
I think the thing was blind.
It crashed into my dogwood tree and hummed as if to say "I s'pose I'll plant my big fat self right here and munch all day."
Day of the Locusts
By Bob Dylan
Oh, the benches were stained with tears and perspiration, The birdies were flying from tree to tree.
There was little to say, there was no conversation As I stepped to the stage to pick up my degree.
And the locusts sang off in the distance, Yeah, the locusts sang such a sweet melody.
Oh, the locusts sang off in the distance, Yeah, the locusts sang and they were singing for me.
I glanced into the chamber where the judges were talking, Darkness was everywhere, it smelled like a tomb.
I was ready to leave, I was already walkin', But the next time I looked there was light in the room.
And the locusts sang, yeah, it give me a chill, Oh, the locusts sang such a sweet melody.
Oh, the locusts sang their high whining trill, Yeah, the locusts sang and they were singing for me.
Outside of the gates the trucks were unloadin', The weather was hot, a-nearly 90 degrees.
© 2004 The Washington Post Company