12.27.11
To the world she's another face–
Average, nothing to make one stop.
But hop inside that little frame
And make your way up to the top.
Crawl into her intellect, in which
She fabricates tale after tale.
Just take a ride through threaded whim
As it twists and builds a trail.
Please don't miss the little frog
Whose spectacle was stolen by
The old and jaded, heartless cod
Who fooled the thing, with words so sly.
And do take notice of the trees
Adorned and sugarcoated through
It's branches. Can't you see the leaves
Are made of cotton candy too.
Now drop to knee into the grass
That sways in time with Old Wind's tune.
They sing and dance in a great mass,
And only rest when they see the Moon.
In this jungle of luscious green,
You may just find the marketplace
Where bugs and critters bring their things
And trade to satisfy their tastes.
At this spot you'll find the snail,
Who tries to live amongst the ants.
But determined as he is, it's to no avail
He just can't fit into those pants.
Now listen close and hear the cries
Of the old owl who no one sees.
He screeches loudly as he flies-
A mourning of lost histories.
Along with him are ancient souls
Like the whale and mountain sheep.
They've been there when the death bell tolls
And that is why you see them weep.
But drag your fingers through the stream
Of hopeful wishes merged as one.
A collective place of children's dreams.
A place where new life has begun.
And on and on the world unfolds,
Revealing mysterious characters.
But share that world; she's not that bold.
So it's hidden just for the wanderers.
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