The Scarborough fair.
One- I told the white cliffs of Dover. My wars are over and I have forgotten my face, my voice, my home . I have become a stranger.
Two- I told her at the Scarborough fair. I love you so, dear Sheena. Be my wife and I promise to make you smile and dance forever. She told me on a Late Spring day. I know a soldier promise, is written in the sand. Easily erased by the sea. When your wars are done. I shall be waiting for the wandering soldier.
Three- I stripped down to my bare skin, my clothing laid neatly and organized in the distance. I go into the late Fall sea. I allowed the cold water to awake my sleeping mind. I wait for no-one. The soldier was forgotten and lost in things he couldn’t hold or love again.
Four- I was twenty-one years old in 1979 and I wandered back to Scarborough. I drank in the afternoon the Scottish whiskey and I watched the Scottish gals walk by. They shared smiled with the lone soldier. I saw in their faces. The face of my dearest Sheena. I didn’t call her. I left her be. I knew never attempt to re-create something that was murdered by me. I learn too late what the ancient poets wisdom. “You don’t find love, love find you. I raised the Johnnie Walker to the sky and I whispered. I found kind love once. Now just a lullaby of stranger. A foolish wandering soldier.
Coyote