A Good Woman Feeling Bad

The blues may be the life you've led Or midnight hours in An empty bed. But persecuting Blues I've known Could stalk Like tigers, break like bone, Pend like rope in A gallows tree, Make me curse My pedigree, Bitterness thick on A rankling tongue, A psalm to love that's Left unsung, Rivers heading north But ending South, Funeral music In a going-home mouth. All riddles are blues, And all blues are sad, And I'm only mentioning Some blues I've had.