A funny little man,

With a green, shifting spade,

Was walking down a hallway

In a glass of lemonade.

The furniture starts creaking.

A fire cries, "Watch out!"

A heard of blue iguanas

Starts flying all about.

"Yes sir," replied the squire.

"I think you’re quite correct:

The luminescent child

Has swallowed her burret."

A blind crept through the open ground;

The scarf become the sand.

What was the smirking coward?

He didn’t understand.

An egg is boiling softly.

The cry rings by the dust,

And all courageous heroes

Will die for what they must.

A scrap has been a treasure trove.

A ring has been a run,

But what has been a trailing Krieuff,

Yet never has begun?

All thought will fall the flimsy.

All length will be the land.

And if a sour soldier,

Avoid the wincing hand.

A rock is rising through the plane,

A slice is sinking ship.

The strawberries are salting

Their comrade’s upper lip.

And if the book speeds through the page,

And if the led are left,

Then what will come of little lamb,

And lairs that convalesce?

A cry cannot be tied a knot,

Nor can the weed be sown,

But only mice can take command

When naught but all be known.

A flame that’s burning in our midst,

A candle’s only dream.

The singing shepherd lullabies

A slowly creeping stream.

And will you charge the rising sun,

When sorrow’s course is woe?

When cards that leap the renegade,

Are forced to sink below?

The dust, the sky, the earth, the clouds,

Among what cannot be!

A single doorway to the heart,

The bumble of a bee.

And though the terrors oft’ amounting,

Though heaven burn the lies,

I shan’t desert the sifting cymbal!

A run without a rise.

Thus by the spinning leaves of writing,

A rising cry be known.

A channel opens to the highway,

The simple love is sewn.

Yet through the burn of constant fire,

A tournament of glee!

A hope will rise above disaster,

A lowly peasant’s plea.

A leaping dart, the crushing moon,

A wave that leaves the life.

The sailor’s path a turn must take;

Mere child, know ye strife?

The tear was slept, an autumn gone,

A star fell from the sky.

The silent music from the wind.

Majestic griffin’s cry.

The woven earth a sonnet ,

And sifted by the night.

Around the breeze I tremble,

And comes dawn’s glowing light.

The thought a war, the war a clash.

Opposing forces meet!

Across the ocean, through the land,

Love follows, not discreet.

The clock has spoken, all time begun.

Existence is in pace.

The breaths of man, life of the earth,

Must follow in the race.

A tree has grown above the depths,

The hurtling boulder rolls.

A flag flaps smartly in the breeze,

Yet touch the tainting toll.

The road of life its course must run,

Its path is seldom strainght.

Above the dust, arrest the blue,

And trials their rise create.

And if the gauntlet drops again,

Though match and romance cease,

Around the mountain lies the pit,

To shear the perfect fleece.

I will not fight for causes lost,

For hearts that dream no more.

What once had come and went again

Saw not the bolted door.

A shot that echoed through abyss,

A sword without a sheath.

The horse was running through the plain,

His chance for life was bleak.

A teething child cannot belie,

The track will not beguile.

A desperate man, to save his life,

Will shout the final mile.

I refuse to tell of sounds unheard,

For what of life itself?

The author lies his sleeping child,

A book upon the shelf.

The shrew flies through a ring of fire,

The caulking falls again.

A gentle kitten will bat the string,

A hawk attack the wren.

A painting formed within the bulb,

Awaiting its new birth.

The glutton swaggers to the plate,

And tastes his food with mirth.

A bramble has been stretched to man,

"Mere rabble!" cried the breeze.

A changed in breath lay scrapped the heat,

And armies fell to knees.

So gleaming planets surround the star,

And logic falls to feeling.

The might of fire, the might of storms,

Can lose to simple kneeling.

I see the sky above the night,

I sense the day below.

The light of moon falls on the earth,

A candle’s gentle glow. 

The rocks and river trickle light,

A sigh surrounds relief.

And life itself its burden drops

As joy replaces grief.

A meal was flown below the trees.

The shipyard shot aflare.

The changing day its stone was dropped

To signal all aware.

And that, dear son,  is simply how

The earth became to be.

The fire followed lightning,

Was swallowed by the sea.

Yet will the right be ever known?

And truth revealed at last?

A seed of future must be sown

To stop repeating past.

And Dr. Seuss may have his rhyme,

Bronte will have her jest.

Still yet the task for me, the boy,