There is
a lost paradise
with petite mud houses
built on damp days
with possibilities
of unruly mirth
‘nd precocious honey bees
periscoping over the
flower beds
to look out for the
goofy dog
who visits only
on rainbow mornings.
Give me
all this ‘nd more
and
let us
dance in embrace
and stand
shoulder to shoulder
hands clasped and
clenched lips
closer in fibre and being
now more than ever
in mud houses
on rainy days.
