Did you see her roaming untethered,free by all definition? What gave her that casual smile, that long winded song and the prancing step a quarter beat swifter than norm? What seemed odd about her visage, something younger, different, nonplussed? I liked this side of midnight where morning promised daylight beyond the feathered ridge, up where Goyahkla bathed. Down hill a promise for the winded man, propelling onward as fast as little wheels turn. She had found revival and the sound of her beating heart reverberated in echo across canyons wide and tunnels long. The song of a life lived in promise.

What did she whisper as you leaned forward to feign the strain of hearing? What pleasantries were promised, mysteries foretold or years turned back by offerings beyond wisdom’s holler? Why have you become the proud recipient of her graces, charmed to be filled with secrets held in check for mastery? What fancy is found in her eye when reminded of you? What treasuries have become accessible that previously required heaven’s disposition? Where do they sell tickets to the fantasy facade? How have you been offered waiting forum as escort to the ball of balls, where dreamers catch the rainbow and pots of gold are child’s play?

Kicked up sand at you she did. Left in the dust to rust with a sense of something must be done but who to trust. All calamity’s carry the essence of humor, serious in tragedy’s remembrance but humorous in clumsy repartee. What dances were you taught or lessons bought to become so caught up in the whirlwind of magistry’s possession? Clamoring to cause effect, erect bridges in honor of her heroes traversing to connect the elect with the established. Dust upon my brow I sit here for now wondering beyond ponder where to wander over yonder. The gleam is distinct, ringed with calloused roses hard pressed to smooth beauty.

This is no kings parade, but the mark of made men, jockeying for an eyeful of comeliness. The brilliant and the bashful, burning a can trash full, smashing all the china in fireplaces too practical for romantic gesture. Burning sense immense that in defense of sitting upon the fence one finds whence one was meant to venture. Capitalize on pretty little cinnamon eyes, and tears of gold like tiny lies define the wise, cut brutish saints right down to size as manly cries overflow each palace chalice. The race is on to overcome but for some not quite that dumb they succumb to the lure of ordure upon furniture. To raise aloft in toast great men, dipping deep the inky pen of nights gone bye and days left past upon each crevasse the die is caste.

Now franchise wealth in desert dreams as piled paper descends to unfettered reams nothing real or true it seems to separate our hearts upon the seams. No packaged flaw or unkempt pause will lead us to worthy cause to feed the gaping endless maws or hand quatrain sufficient clause. So song so closes with no reposes leaving Moses in Aaron’s plight within sight the land of honeyed milk, dressed in linen wanting silk no sludge will budge the waiting bilk no understanding of such palsied ilk. This day was set when she did smile a while torn to reconcile each file aligned for mile upon mile don’t leave what’s pure for man’s defile. Cap the well of hapless folly To land’s so grand we’ll go by golly with bellies full and hearts quite Jolly to the see the world chasing golden Mollie.