On a cold December, just before dawn, as the sun said Hello!
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To the sky, the Mantis prayed while the Lamellicorn tunneled and rolled in a threadbare tie.
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When the Holland Lops in the Karakung Glades indignantly thump their feet and hopped away when they cut their noses on the sharp-tipped blades (which the grass doesn't mind in the least).
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And there's a heat-pat waiting in the chicken-wire hutch where the does from the Netherlands stay, but that dry alfalfa don't taste like much and we're tired of the Timothy hay.
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(hay)
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I touched her back, she was lying facedown, the dew turned to frost in her eyes.
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Me and Sister Margaret on the Pentagon lawn with our wrists in a plastic tie.
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While the rats by the tracks on these winter days seeking shelter from the cold, make a nest from the tracts of our various ways that they can save their immortal souls.
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No Timothy hay.
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Oh no..., Timothy hay?
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Oh no..., Timothy hay?
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Oh no..., Timothy hay?
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Oh no..., Timothy hay?
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Oh no..., Timothy hay?
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Please no more Timothy hay.
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No more Timothy hay.
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Oh no, no more Timothy hay.
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No, no more Timothy hay.
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Oh no, no more Timothy hay.
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No more Timothy hay.
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On a cold December, just after dusk, as the sun bid its cordial goodbyes, we'll be split to pieces like an apple seed husk to reveal the tree that's been hidden inside.
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Which sapling called in a tattered sarong as the seeds from the Shepherd's Purse fell, broke the news to Mom, we found a better Mom we call 'God,' which she took quite well, singing:
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What a beautiful God, what a beautiful God, what a beautiful God there must be!
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What a beautiful God, what a beautiful God, what a beautiful God there must be!
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What a beautiful God, what a beautiful God, what a beautiful God there must be!
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What a beautiful God, what a beautiful God, what a beautiful God You must be!
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Timothy Hay
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| Mewithoutyou (Me Without You) |
