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It's not always the singer that's important. Sometimes maybe it's the song. Also, I see everyone plugged in with telephones in their ears, or listening to somebody else's music. More and more, I find fewer and fewer people who have their own songs.

I cannot imagine having somebody else's "stuff" in my head all day. There's too much going on up there. Telephones and MP3 players would interfere. Sometimes I just want it to be quiet so I can wonder around and enjoy the peace and serenity of my own thoughts. Based on my own life, I have to imagine that someone who is constantly plugged in and turned on has nothing of his or her own, is afraid of the cerebral dark, or both.

Oh well! That's my job. The world must have it's curmudgeons.

By the way, I read this to someone, and, though it makes perfect sense to me, she didn't get it. The "words" I refer to are literal words, poetry, thoughts I've read, heard, or created, and the "song" is what I do with them. Personally, I usually enjoy what I do with them, so it makes me happy to play with, or play, them...hence, a song.

THEIR WORDS, MY SONG

If good words were my own
Would I then love them more?

They sing the song that I would sing,
So the sound must be as sweet
As if it were truly mine.

Why not mine, no matter
Whose words they are?

When I sing them in MY mind, or
In my heart,
Are they not then mine,
No matter
Whose pen or paper gave them birth?

If good words were mine, I hope
Others would see fit to sing them.

Copyright Donovan Baldwin
Dec 13, 2006


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Donovan Baldwin
Hurst, TX 76053

Original poetry by Donovan Baldwin

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Page Updated 3:25 PM Saturday 12/7/2013