I said

But not aloud.
Made so much sense,
These phrases, wound about
A beanstalk's clever tongue
Of josh and jester, song of songs.
O wise man, heal my lack of
Wit's retort, or crushing doubt;
Flay all apart an argument
To make me hide, to
Bind me idle; keep me
Wild.

Parade

Merrily we roll
A tot's song, long ago
It seems we sang it all
Probably out of tune, but
Loved it all the same
And seventy-six trombones
Heralded our awe of
What we'd done and
Where we'd been
In song, long time
Forgot until a
Little new bird
Came along.