Poet of the River (july 27 1994 / California, but move around a lot.)

I am as lonely as a record,
sitting on my dusty shelf.
With no one here to here my song,
So I just sit here by myself.

I shall grow old,
And warp with dust and age.
Even books are burdened by days,
as wrinkles creep up every page.

I was well known for a while,
Even sought after by those who wished to hear my story.
But no I sit here as an old file stripped of its former glory.
They say time will heal all wounds,
For man this might be true.
But time cannot heal a lonely record,
That choice is up to you.

Wipe away the dust,
So that I may last.
Polish up my surfaces,
To reflect the glorious past.
Don't hide our story on a shelf to sit there all by its self,
To the record, it is not fair.
So do your part, and make a record you would be happy to share.