Not My Parade

That simply isn’t my parade.

So I don’t mind if it’s raining.

I don’t mind if it’s cold.

I don’t mind if the roads

are slick and wet.

I just don’t mind.

It isn’t my parade.

That’s not my calliope music.

Those aren’t my elephants.

Those are not my clowns tumbling

and somersaulting.

That’s not my ring master.

That’s not my lion tamer.

That’s not my trapeze crew.

I don’t know who they are.

They fling and fly with the

greatest of ease.

They are not mine.

I don’t know them.

So go ahead and rain.

It’s doesn’t matter to me.

Let the skies open and the

monsoon come.

I’ve got no dancing pony in

this parade.

Do your tricks,

do your flips,

do your show,

in the rain,

it matters very little to me.

Run and rush,

scatter and push,

cover and cower

between the heavy rain drops.

It won’t make a difference to

me.

I’ve got my own parade

to tend to.

A girl on the high wire to

watch.

A tiger to tame.

All in the sun.

Some other day.