like harold hill with his baton
in his hand
[get your mind out of the gutter]
waiting on magic he doesn’t believe in
it took someone else to blow the
trombone [seriously, gutter mind]
to open his eyes
it was easy to watch those pastel
musicals and think love was a
recursive function
that called itself without end
but sometimes you have to put up
with the pbs station pledge drive
before you can get back to
robert preston and shirley jones
and the magical costume changes
in the last five minutes
and you can hear the great creatore
and the recursive functions runs
and runs
and blows a trumpet like gabriel
with wings on fire
Words and Feathers 
And there was love all around, and they heard it singing, and it was magical.
(Even with a pledge break.)
I just hope the Wells Fargo Wagon has something good for me.
You never know. 😉
(Maybe a credit card application with your name on it!)
Ha ha ha–I hope not.
I wonder who’s warmer — Gabriel with his wings on fire or a shadow in the heat?
I’m gonna say Gabriel. I don’t know that I’d want my wings to catch fire.
Haha! I can certainly understand that, man.
~PR