The Devil and meA Poem by Oswald Chesterfield CobblepotListening to some old Louisiana blues and got in the mood to write this. Enjoy! Well, I walk down through the muddy Bayou And see a Music man pickin' there The music sounds so right to my ears So he offered to give me a how-to He picked up a wooden guitar and threw it my way I gave it a pluck or two With a swish of his hand I was playing like good 'ole Mister Johnson I looked at him with not much to say His eyes grew as dark as a stormy sky And his voice grew deeper than a Bass He told me I owed him my soul His guitar no longer sounded like a lullaby Fire flew from his mouth and he grinned with sharp teeth I stood up and tried to run My feet were glued to the Bayou mud like it was concrete I guess I gotta deal with livin' underneath
© 2014 Oswald Chesterfield CobblepotAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorOswald Chesterfield CobblepotGotham , NJAboutWelcome foolish mortals, to my domain. Kindly step all the way into my profile... there's no turning back now. Yes as you can tell, I'm weird. But don't let that stop you from indulging in .. more..WritingRelated WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
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