Oleander

I wrote Oleander at Ocracoke a couple of years ago. This year at the OcraFolk Festival in early June they had a songwriter circle at one of the coffee shops. I played it when it was my turn: giving it back to the island. It felt good. All that oleander, all those mourning doves . . .

Don’t you hear the lonesome call of the mourning dove
It’s a common sound I don’t think much of
Heard it all my life, more’s the shame
I’d rather hear the warble of the whippoorwill
If I hadn’t run away I would be there still
Pleased to meet you, Oleander is my name

That’s a pretty name for a pretty face
And I’ll bet a little loving would soon erase
All the worries and troubles that are on your mind
Maybe it won’t and maybe it will
But I’ll tell you Mister my looks can kill
It would come out better for you if your love was blind,

cause Oleander could be your doom
Oleander a rosy bloom
Oleander smells so sweet
Makes a heart forget to beat

I was raised up hard and I was raised up mean
I was the prettiest baby Mama’d ever seen
But a girl that was pretty and poor filled her with dread
Now Mama believed that words had power
So she named me for a poison flower
I done for you what I could was what she said

Now I could love you till the day you die
But if I was you I’d just walk on by
Go on now – forget you ever came
It won’t get better it will only get worse
Cause I live in the shadow of my mama’s curse
Go on now – I’ll not tell you again

that Oleander could be your doom
Oleander a rosy bloom
Oleander smells so sweet
Makes a heart forget to beat

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