old poem

early morning dream

bantering buttercup flies high up,
i can hardly spot her  as if invisble
rubbery legs dangling from a high chair
i pat the cheshire cat who's visiting
from the past; there i fall upwards:
everything's plausible in this place
wriggling my dizzy bum i fail to sit
upright and give up, nearby i hear the
bees' wings buzzing my eyes wide open
as if to tell me something very important
is about to happen, in comes the king
he takes my hand leading the way
to palpable palaces tasty as honey
and milky trails to walk upon all
hazes, watery falls steam the vision,
i guess it's time to wake up after all.




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