By Nick Begich Sr.

The wind pulls at the Autumn leaves,

In Vagabond Blues

looking out the window

on a Sunday afternoon,

Pretty women on cell phones

Lost in idle

When, what they might seek,

Is in the room, sitting there.

Did you come out because you wanted to meet?

Or just to be seen, and admired.

No matter, the elegance of your movement

Is not missed in expression outward.

We are all there an outward reflection,

Of the immoral internal soul,

And lost in the form of it

Or carried in the body only as a living soul.

Flowers out the window,

Hanging baskets still in bloom, in fall.

What brings into form the bloom,

The flower the press into the warmth of the sun.

Sun in the high degrees soon lost here,

As darkness forbodes the winter

Not be the winter of the soul

But the search for the warm hearth of heart in cold winter’s breath.

Breath in your own breath of life again,

Freed from the sense of it again to remember,

What and who I am….

What be you this blessed day at Vagabond Blues….?