Look at that miller
Down to the village
Homes of the tillers
To hand out his millage

Hopscotch today
Watch the children play
All for one, and one for all
Until someone takes a great fall

The teachers come out
Taking the fastest route
To stop the play
No hopscotch today

A man with many crimes
He listens to the chimes
A man with little virtue
About to meet his curfew

The people look on
Standing under the tree
About to be free

The lone leaf falls
Yet no one bawls
And the people are gone

Two more, Three more
From the trees they tore
From whence they came before

The guns that wait
In the grass so high
Death ready to fly
To stop their gait

The sun hugs the earth
And the guns go home
Sharing in their mirth

What is it we hear blowing on the wind?
Coming from every corner and every bend

It flows through the trees
Like a hive of carefree bees

Where it begins, no one knows
Where it ends, go the crows

A mysterious wind, making trees bend
What is it we hear blowing on that wind?

Have an assignment
Give in to resignment

Stopping for procrastenation
Gives forth to agitation

How to proceed?
That answer I need

What’s the holdup?
Time’s almost all up