Singing

When I’m singing I feel fine,

because I’m not alone in my own time warp.
Serve the biscuits! Pour the wine!

Never sure where to draw the line—
trying to play a song in C#-
minor—but I'm singing, so I feel fine.

Remembering smelling the pine-
y air of solitude—strumming on my harp—
baking the biscuits, brewing the wine.

Sure, I don’t want to be unkind
to myself or others, but we need to burp
the baby now! 'cause when it's cooing I feel fine

and I can be part of the light that shines
on hill and dale when the lark
sings at heaven’s gate and Phoebus ‘gins

arise o'er our little cabin home.
Almost thinking to outsmart
death itself when I sing and I feel fine,
serving the biscuits, pouring the wine!