Ernie From Burt

I'm Ernie From Burt
there are sunny daze here
sweeping the clouds away

Burt he has a big nose
fuzzy black hair
but he is much more than that

He is the wicked wind of the plains
that Ernie Pyle wrote about his his column before he died
He is the sound of the hoot owl
the sound of commiseratig friends he and I
He is a main street
He is a tiny store
He is a tall water tower
with his name on it

Burt is waiting for the flowers to bloom
While he is an urban street character
He is in actuality a small town
A microcosm of America
in an unnumbered century

I'm Ernie from Burt
We are not puppets
we are poets
if you don`t knowets