What Fool Would Love To Read
by
Forest Garfield Hairston

And when words bother my mind in the nights lonely hour
I wonder if words are caged souls yearning to be set free
And what fool would care to hear my words that cry out
And scream and yell to obscurely design inside my mind
Tho' here at my lonely hour, even here, I but merely desire
But to close my mind, even here, I but yearn to fall asleep
Yet these foolish words dancing about and carrying on
Are welled deeply inside my soul with every line I write
Every word I tend to revel upon, and so might I believe
Somehow at sometime, I'll find myself a reader somewhere
Tho' often, I often wonder, why do these people often read
What fool might read my page, gone yellow with creepy age
Then what fool might even a reader be
And then what fool would ever read me
What fool would love to read
What fool would love to read.

And if only I wrote for love, through the nights lonely hour
And the face I love wrote a line of love, deepest as my love
What weird words are these destined to be written so by me
Words my love recall, is only what love and life's laughter
And never I ever touch on the raging, cursing, jilted anger
Yet love is raged from life's hunger and love's dire sorrow
Here in my words near the dawn, words never reek its evil
My every line so eloquently told within its tint of love
And my vile anger, my ungodly martyred word has no love
I'll find no reason to spell evil, no verse to write the rhyme
And if someone read a page, and so read my redolent line
Somewhere farther beyond this dawn, I found a reader yet
Still what fool might even a reader be
And still what fool would ever read me
What fool would love to read
What fool would love to read.

Poems from
the
Book of Forest

Even Further
Truth
Ever America
Caged Soul
What Fool
Across This Land
Still Louisiana