The grass I trod was mostly stale
Dirty brambles oozed their outlines amid
Tufts of green, budding so timid and frail
I had to look down, whatever I did
A branch that leered at me overhanging
Began to bend into my direction
And called out to me with a voice clanging
Soft as dew, upon reflection
'Scuse me dear, do you feel naïve today?
It's incumbent on me to question fools
Who visit this land, so deep in the fray
Who are not yet privy to our grand rules'
I answered the branch, yes I was aware
Why I'd come to no-land, was my affair
No comments:
Post a Comment