And off he goes . . .

And off he goes, into the where,

Some rain today, and bad the news,

Clouds towering; not here, but there.

How much of life could he refuse,

Music softening his green eyes?

Visions rushing, the sights'll scream,

Odors sparkle, perfumes surprise.

But who will wonder where he's been,

Or even notice that he's gone?

They’re much too busy with their messes,

To give a hoot; they'll get quite wrong

Dead mail's not-at-this-addresses!

Some kin won't be all that bothered,

They so distant, oddly brothered.

Suggested accompaniment: Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's Trombone Concerto (1877).

Tuesday, September 16, 2025