Andrew the Wanderer

Stacked near your bedside, books you’ve begun
With dog eared good intention they’re all suggested by someone
Colorful little fictions about animals on parade
The lions and crows have unionized and they’re marching for wage
Andrew became a wanderer
Stalked by the bloody hunter
And rest for him it was foretold, in a city whose streets are paved with gold
The great big depression, machines have won the war
The fallow soil, the market crash, and the motor oil
The boy flies off westward on star spangled wings
And brings back the dawn over the eastern seas
Andrew became a wanderer
Stalked by the bloody hunter
And rest for him it was foretold, in a city whose streets are paved with gold
Written on the spine of every holy lowly man, woman, creature and child
A love letter in kind