Christopher Wilson
Christopher Wilson




up the hill from Portugal

not the country

the street

propped amongst these pathways

a lone magnolia leans

arms wide open

littering the ground

the petals

once blossoms

assemble in a mound


so long in your abandon

so long your roots must reach

the plea for restoration

commencing at your feet

it wasn't wasted motion

you are strikingly alive

there is no misplacement

transcend the times


light upon a beacon

you were always reaching 

the nighttime

the lifetimes

they waltzed on by

to the pulse of pagoda

the beat of pagoda

the feeling

I know you

and I feel alright


the places you go back to

the swelling of a creek

you could dive right into

what never seemed that deep

it wasn't wasted motion

it wasn't wasted time

just like this pagoda

I see you all the time


a lone magnolia

like the one in your backyard



(Words and music by Christopher Wilson; copyright 2001, Christopher Wilsongs, ASCAP. All rights reserved.)