Faulkner, take me to your country
Your roads somehow are also mine
Let us discourse in your backwoods
Puzzling through our break with time.
Somehow you and I together
Both found logs a throne for rest,
Heard the singing in the forest
Of the angels make us blest,
Laid our guns aside for psalters,
Though the guns would roar again
And found the way that closed eyes hunted
Was a wise way for men.
My songs need your baton for singing
I have to hear your lyric hand,
Should my listeners hear my message
Yours the honour we command.
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