The well is dug
Some years ago I wrote a song called 'Dimes in a Jar' and gave it a simple melody. I'm no songwriter but being so deeply in love and feeling such pain somehow I nurtured the passion and despair needed to form the words and spew them forth into a kind of melodic poem. As I watched the words fall the sentience was clear; there would be an unraveling eventually.
Indeed that love, and me, did unravel.
My internal deshabille at the time was disconcerting but with it, eventually, came an acute focus, a clarity unknown to me previously. I look back now at my resilience and I am softened. What gifts that pain gave me; freedom, clear sight, courage and humility. Perhaps I need a coat of arms for Parchment House with those words?
And then to today, the interior of Parchment House is deshabille to say the least but I am not afraid. That crucifying lesson in love somehow equipped me to do this. I don't question that I'm able to take on the task to the visions' end. There'll be plenty of dimes spent but at least my well is full with the riches of the past.
"Dimes in a jar, I kept my dimes in a jar, one by one, become two.....and I'm a rich girl.
Now I keep them in a drawer but they keep falling to the floor.....cos I'm a rich girl.
There's a well outside the door and it's dry......it's dry dry dry.
I could throw my dimes in and see how they fly fly fly......cos I'm a rich girl, I'm a rich girl.
A dime for every time you made me cry...and I'm a rich girl."