A land
of eternal youth, where summers linger long
Last
year’s dandelion wine sits in the cellar, fermenting
The
everyday is transformed into the magical and fantastic
And
the clock tower chimes over the little drowsing town
Lurking
nearby, a deep dark gulley of thick greenness
Where
even July’s bright daylight does not fully penetrate
My imagination
burns with specters, beasts and killers
That ooze
out when wicked October winds are blowing cold
A man
in the whitest of suits drives the electric trolley car
Gives
free rides to those children wise beyond their years
Everyone
and everything is more that what appears to be
As I
go gliding happily up and down on Bradbury Lane
Really well done. Makes me want to go read him again.
ReplyDelete