My ear was on the water wall, the deer was secret in the hall, the rail that sticks to strangers legs, the bear that spills, the cat that begs. Bergs estranged one wicked eve, bring pelted shirts with cut off sleeves, too strange, too strange to say the name. A stain of watery goats in slippery boats in muddy moats. There’s time to kill, let’s have a toast, and boast about the finest roasts. I heard about the largest sieve and golden flakes did spark downstream while burnt men count the seven seas at ease on crusty knees. Shimmering spheres and equal sheets, crystal clear brown wooden pleats, the little lamb that shakes and bleats so distant from her mother’s teats. Perspective glares, long spotted stairs, bob up and down, planks run aground. We’ll twist this page and find our selves a popping through like waking moths to new frontiers on ever changing swathes so worry not.
I dig it although it seemed like some of the rhymes were meaningless and used only because they rhyme.
