The Picture and the Frame
The Picture and The Frame
The leaves came swirling down
On some old New England town
With streets of a winding ancient nature
The farmers and the townsmen they gathered there
To speak of things they'd lately read in papers
The air was turning cold
And the wind was blowing bold
And there seemed to be some sort of autumn sale
They'd learned to pick and choose their garments well
And to stock and firm their shelters
Some stranger came on in
As though he blew there with the wind
He wasn't lost ah but neither was he found
This stranger stood out sharply in the crowd
These times they were perhaps not made for him
He went into some store
Just for warmth and nothing more
The lady there remembers him quite well
This stranger stood out sharply in the crowd
These times they were perhaps not made for him
The lady in the junk shop
Said he was the only one
Who asked about the foreign-looking picture
Some old and withered etching of a hero
About to slay a wicked-looking creature
She gave to him for free
She said it seemed to fill some need
And he's the only one my memory retains
Who did not shun the picture for the frame
No he did not shun the picture for the frame
The leaves came swirling down
On some old New England town
With streets of a winding ancient nature
The farmers and the townsmen they gathered there
To speak of things they'd lately read in papers
Writer/s: Jay Bolotin
