She came to the Blithe garden in a happy state of mind
Exploring every little thing that she had come to find:
She came anticipating sun, but there was only rain:
She came to lean upon a tree, but it was split in twain.
She came to count the tulip's heads; there wasn't one to spy on,
She came to smell a rose, but there was just a dandelion.
She came to see the tire-swing, but it was lying dead:
So she sat in it anyways, and she reclined her head---
As if her dreams contained a garden boundless on all sides,
She ran her fingers through the grass, went up and down the slide,
She ran towards the limits of the field, but when I fenced it,
She felt it was enough to spread her arms and lay against it:
Such was the nature of her dream, and when I saw her start to wake
I bid her close her eyes again, for her imagination's sake.
[This message has been edited by Local Parasite (09-25-2004 07:46 PM).]