Wish thoughts that float above,
came in strips hale and hearty,
to pluck from and party.
If moon could cushion the burns of the night
as good as the day’s
and dump them in fuselages to spray,
the trees would have grown wild and many,
with leaves long and green
for a tender awakening.
If nature could partner as half sleuths,
together with men of honor,
against misgivings and sadness to its creed,
then vent would have unleashed,
by a fatal strike of lightening,
and handcuffs of steel.
Now having to rue the inadequateness of space
and marshalled existence,
I live to line up behind
some swelling of jolly wanderers
for an early pink slip…,