Tobacco Gown

Paramount, this blazing truth,
Seen through the looking glass.
You swing your horse hair, bat an eye,
And pray that it won't last.
But that fly just keeps on buzzin',
Though you swear you struck it down.
Your crimes come by the dozen--
Sweetgrass braid, tobacco gown.

Well just throw it in the fire, girl,
And let it burn away.
 I've been building up this pyre,
Sittin' here for several days.
Those feathers, they will bellow,
And this cedar will now burn.
It's time to seek the healin',
For which your soul doth yearn.

~t