We are all affected by music in one way or another. And whether we appreciate the melodics of it all, a good lyric touches a chord (see what I did there?) and has a way of sticking in our craw. Think Finnegan, and begin again! But, be it Ira Gershwin or Lennon and McCartney, a lyricist is a true poet. It is where I cut my poetic chops.

So, think of a lyric you enjoy, or listen to some music and cull a line to use in your poem or as your inspiration. Credit the source. Music doth have charms. Let it speak to you!


“Why should I gain from His reward? I cannot give an answer. But this I know with all my heart: His wounds have paid my ransom.”   (From Stuart Townend’s How Great the Father’s Love for Us)

Who can sing with a 
voice that breaks at the thought of 
unending mercy?

© Marie Elena Good, 2022




I hear the drizzle of the rain, 
like a memory it falls.
~ from Kathy’s Song by Simon and Garfunkle

Flushing other thoughts from my brain
keeping me with only you in mind. 
The cold misty droplets find me
longing for a torrent; a storm
to warm me with recollections
of where we were; of whom we’ve become.
And when it is done, I am awash
with the realization that we once loved.
Every dismal day reminds me you’re gone.

(c) Walter J Wojtanik - 2022

186 thoughts on “PROMPT #389 – LYRICS ARE POETIC

  1. TRILL

    “… and to my listening ears / all nature sings and round me rings / the music of the spheres,” This is My Father’s World.
    (Lyrics by Maltbie Davenport Babcock, put to the tune of and old English song by Franklin Shepherd) 

    I hear the trill of a songbird
    in my morning’s brightening yard,
    he wakes the world from darkness
    like a joyful faithful bard. 

    I know in heaven’s morning
    never words are spoken plain,
    but every word is sung in song,
    melodic, pure refrain.

    Song is the holy language
    in the music of the spheres,
    there is no tones of anger, hate,
    no sadness, sin, or fears.

    But joy and praise and glory
    are bright harmonies of love,
    with peace a calm fermata
    in eternity above.

    So, I will sing like songbird,
    trill whatever is my part,
    with the music of the spheres
    God is playing in my heart.

    © Damon Dean, 2022

  2. The Girls Alright With Me – The Temptations

    “Now we don’t feel tied down
    Although our hearts are bound”


    We don’t feel tied down,
    necessarily, like we’ve lost our freedom;
    although our hearts are happily bound
    in a rhythmic sea of silent soil.

    When our roots met deep underground—
    they shook the soil, had the freedom
    to toil and twine until perennial

    Although our hearts are truly bound,
    there is no sign, or sound of deliverance,
    from the magnificence of this very tree.

    It’s just you and me—
    under the towering canopy of love.
    Our green leaves are free to sing the breeze.
    Our branches always seize the morning dove.

    Our forest of love are wise mystical trees.
    Our hearts forever see the need—
    to be freed as one. To bleed as one.
    To fall as one.

    To willingly stay hopelessly bound,
    from the ravishing crown
    to underground soundless root.

    But there’s always been music
    in the our roots.

    © Benjamin Thomas

  3. Based on “One fond embrace, before I now depart” (Aloha Oe, by Liliʻuokalani)


    Often love
    is composed of
    confusion, hurt, and pain,
    and when we first exchanged that look
    that made of each an open book,
    I feared a certain strain;
    but love with you
    was always true
    and right as warming rain.

  4. I Love a Rainy Night

    I love Colorado—blue skies, sunshine
    most of the time.
    Majestic mountains, serene bluffs
    Pines, juniper, pinon, tumble weeds.
    But I miss rainy nights.
    “I love a rainy night
    I love a rainy night
    You know it makes me feel good.”
    Sitting on a porch
    Hearing the powerful thunder
    Watching the lightning
    Listening to the drumming rain
    Running out in it
    Letting it wash all over me.
    But now in southwest Colorado
    when the rain tap, taps on the roof,
    it’s like that old joke about the chain saw,
    where a man takes it back to the shop
    because it won’t work.
    When the shopkeeper starts it up,
    the man, startled, asks,
    “What’s that noise?”
    It’s like that when we first hear rain
    in the southwest.
    What’s that noise?

    I love a rainy night, I love a rainy night…You know it makes me feel good. –Eddie Rabbitt

  5. Walt, I remember Kathy’s song, and it is actually one of my favorites. I immediately jumped into my mind was this line… Kathy, I’m lost even though she was sleeping. I used to sing from beginning to end…

  6. “Summertime,
    And the livin’ is easy
    Fish are jumpin’
    And the cotton is high”
    George Gershwin from Porgy and Bess….


    Spring is light and airy…
    Fall is crisp and clean…
    Winter is damp and heavy,
    But summer swells
    With the heat
    Soaked air
    That billows and flows
    And saps the energy
    From all living things
    Until they droop
    And collapse
    On the porch
    Waving a funeral fan
    To cool themselves
    And wave away the flies
    Attracted to smell of sweat
    Dripping off everyone…

    Each year we welcome summer,
    But by August, we want it done…
    For the heat is not easy to bear,
    And there is only so far
    That you can go bare.

    If you fish… it is in the morning
    Cause by afternoon
    The mosquitoes come out,
    And ravage our skin.

    The cotton has to be harvested
    In the heat of late August.
    Ma talked of picking cotton
    How those burrs
    Bloodied your fingers,
    And how the sweat
    Poured off your face,
    And your clothes
    Stuck to you like a second skin…
    The next day you began again
    Until the field was harvested…
    Everyone was thankful
    When that machine
    Was invented.

    Gershwin wrote a lovely song
    Made to be sung
    From your soul
    That was cracked and broken
    Filled with the promises of hope…
    And the depth of despair.
    If he had lived in the south
    He would have known
    This one thing
    That all southerners know…
    The heat of the summer
    Binds us all
    From the cradle to the grave.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 5, 2022

  7. It has been a while since I wrote a poem using the lyrics of a song… I chose the very old ones before 1923 besides I have collected folksongs in my youth when I played a mountain dulcimer…. This also has some mountain saying.., t’other is “the other” and oughta is “Ought to”

    Wayfaring Stranger….

    “I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
    A traveling thru a world of woe.”*

    Each morning I get up,
    And travel my day on my bare feet…
    I am a stranger to most,
    But one thing
    The strangers I pass
    Have in common with me
    Is this world has more sorrows
    Than it oughta.

    “But there is no sickness, toil nor danger
    To that bright land to which I go.”*

    I carry thru the day,
    Sickness that breaks me…
    Don’t know if I will ever be healed,
    But I know when I cross over
    I will leave that sickness behind me.

    “I know dark clouds gather round me.
    I know my pathway is rough and steep.”*

    When you struggle to put
    One foot in front of t’other…
    It can be hard to see the wonders
    That is all around me…
    For the stones of path
    Cut my feet
    And make me weary,
    And when the storms
    With dark clouds
    Leave me abandoned
    In the rain.

    “But golden fields lay before me
    Where weary eyes no more will weep.”

    I look beyond where I am standing…
    I know one day, I will don a white robe,
    And will sing with joy
    With those washed in Jesus’s blood.
    There will be only joy,
    And my tears will be wiped away.

    “I’ll soon be free from every trial
    This form shall rest beneath the sod” *

    Each day I get closer
    To the day I join that heavenly choir.
    Each day is a new beginning
    Like the first day the sun did shine,
    And the moon glowed down on us
    To wonder as we wander…
    At how small we really are.

    “I’ll soon drop the cross of self-denial,
    And enter in that home of God.” *

    It is not easy to let yourself
    Not do what you long to do.
    It is not easy to walk away
    When you want to walk towards.
    It is not easy to say no
    When you want to say yes,
    When I enter that home of God…
    All those things do not matter,
    And my self-denial was worth
    All those times I walked away.

    “I ‘m goin’ home to meet my Savior
    He said he would meet me when I come.
    I’m just a goin’ over Jordon.
    I’m just a goin’ over home…”*

    Home is a place I have longed for
    Since my grannie said I did not belong.
    I tell myself one day
    There will be a place that is my own.
    But if it not here
    On this side of Jordon….
    I know it will be there
    When I go home.

    “I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger…”*

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 5, 2022
    Traditional American folksong*

  8. I wrote this back in the 90s. I put it into my book on grief…It was the first song I learned to play on my dulcimer… which used to travel with me and even hiked with it a couple of times on short hikes.

    That Lonesome Valley

    “You’ve got to walk
    That lonesome valley”*

    Sometimes, near the end of winter-
    Just before the spring flowers
    Are seen. Those tiny flowers that lay low close to the earth
    About the size of a penny nail head.
    Pale colors, pink, blue, white, and yellow.
    About this time if you walk in the valley
    You can hear the wind blow
    A quiet whistle thru the trees.
    It makes the loneliest sound on earth.
    You can feel the coldness left over from the wintertime.
    It will shiver you down to your bones.

    “You’ve got to walk
    That lonesome valley”*

    The wind that blows at the end of winter in the valley
    Down ta where those tiny almost too small to see flowers bloom-
    Like little jewels they are-
    Mixed amid all the green beginning to show in grass.
    Even if you walked your carefulest
    You would still step on them.
    Sort of like if you tried your hardest
    To close off the sound of the wind, you couldn’t.
    In the valley the sound is so lonesome,
    Like a lost love calling, or a baby wailing,
    Knowing that no one would come.

    “You’ve got to walk
    That lonesome valley”*

    It is when you hear that lonely wind…
    Just at the end of winter and the beginning of spring,
    Low in the valley, where the fog lies late in the mornings
    And rises fast in the midday.
    Low in the valley with the mountains all around-
    Mountains that seem so high and close to the sky
    Where from the highest mountain ridge
    You just know that you are as small as the tiny spring flowers-
    Just listening to the wind
    You can hear your cry from your heart
    Wailing in the wind and all alone.

    “All by yourself,
    All by yourself.” *

    It is when you are in the valley
    Listening to the wind you hain’t heard before
    That you can hear your own voice-
    Not the one that you felt on the mountain ridge-
    Or at some gathering of friends and family and such.
    The voice that is not unlike those tiny spring flowers
    So unnoticed until you are alone
    Taking a look-see at the world around you like it was fresh new.
    Like it is every spring just at the beginning
    And every winter just at the ending
    When the wind comes blowing thru the valley.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd

    *Traditional song can be sung 

  9. Written in 1968 amid the pain of our Vietnam War, by George David Weiss & Bob Thiele, performed best by Louis Armstrong,
    “…and I say to myself, it’s a wonderful world.”

    The 17’s of May

    The longer I live,
    the more Divinity I 
    see in everything.

    When I can’t come up
    with an answer, I know that 
    Grace will carry me.

    There is always good
    being done in this wide world,
    not only the bad.

    The earth’s needs are great.
    When I feel overwhelmed,
    I do what I can.

    When I wake in doubt,
    I don’t despair. I simply
    opt to recommit.

    I find truth in the
    present moment. There’s no more
    I need to create.

    I release weak thoughts,
    all useless thoughts of illness,
    sitting in wholeness.

    I wake, look outside,
    spy our beautiful garden,
    see a place of grace. 

    Time together here
    on Earth is precious. I am
    so grateful for us.

    I see you, love you,
    and always support you in 
    your magnificence.

  10. My resurrection

    People try to put us d-down (talkin’ ’bout my resurrection)
    Just because we’re off the ground (talkin’ ’bout my resurrection)
    Things down here look awful c-c-cold (talkin’ ’bout my resurrection)
    I hope I die before I get old (talkin’ ’bout my resurrection)
    Lookin for my resurrection
    It’s my resurrection, baby

    Borrowed from “The Who”

  11. I fell in love with Robbie Robinson’s music with this one song… Somewhere down the crazy river…. it is sensuous, and tells a tale… Since I barely slept last night… I mean it starts with “Yeah, I can see it now
    The distant red neon shivered in the heat” now isn’t a wonderful line… and I can’t improve on it…

    Somewhere down the crazy river…

    Livin’ on a river
    Is a dream I have….
    I can see myself stepping out
    Into the moonlight
    In a blue cotton gown…
    On a steamy night
    Listening to the sounds
    Of the night, and
    Of a man that comes
    To me in my dreams,
    I hear those sounds
    Taking me down that crazy river…
    I whisper to myself…
    Don’t be afraid…
    To follow that river…

    Last night,
    My dreams woke me
    And kept me traveling
    I haven’t been before
    And I whispered
    Into the dark…
    Take me
    Down that crazy river…
    And on my sheets
    With pink rose buds…
    I floated away…
    Into the night,
    And woke
    This morning
    For the lack of sleep.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 5, 2022

  12. Take a sad song and make it better (Hey Jude- Paul McCartney/John Lennon)

    Sunday, A Day of Becoming the Song

    I’m taking this nothingness
    and scoring lines once unsaid
    into something as
    the refrigerator hums.

    Lines of love resonate
    and sitting alone I gaze
    out a pane of glass
    to see the world unfold

    and now in my mind
    I’m still singing
    the song I sang
    last night.

    On Tuesday I’ll meet a friend
    when she’ll smile and say
    how much she loves the way
    I turn a blank page into a poem.

    Tuesday night
    I’ll find my way
    to another place
    and sing again.

    and now in my mind
    I’m still singing
    the song I sang
    last night.

    In high school class
    I sat next to a friend
    with little to say
    as she brushed her long, strawberry blonde hair.

    I’d go home and close my door
    playing Hey Jude three times
    more than twenty-one minutes of song-
    the spell was cast

    and now in my mind
    I’m still singing
    the song I sang
    last night

  13. Fighting the Rip Current

    Driftin’ too far from shore
    –Bob Dylan

    At your core (never seedless)
    lie those harder bits
    truths from which you’ve strayed
    repeatedly (and yet again) trying to be
    to untaze those roots so tangled
    but to which you are tethered
    even as you drift from and back to
    those oceans bearing your experience
    their ebb flow high noons and two a.m.’s

    claiming to be master of your own ship
    yet too often aground in the whip coral
    stranded drying on shell strewn beach
    even as your own footprints disappear
    the only proof you were ever there

    but now and then in lesser streams
    a mussel shimmering inside its purse
    of nacre protecting a tiny seed
    a start of something that calls you
    even as you rub it clean of sand
    reminded again of all that you are
    beneath the shell the façades
    arms legs soul mind and even
    your reluctant heart still fighting
    the fierce rip currents you mange
    to find driftin’ too far from shore.

  14. I Am . . . I said,
    To no one there
    by Neil Diamond

    each day starts again
    becoming a constant mantra
    following years
    endless tears
    of phases
    that have all come
    and gone now
    and living
    almost familiar
    until nature
    as only it can
    through winds passing by
    flowers opening, blooming
    birds with their unique song
    helping her belong
    as she is
    her words echo out
    sometimes even shout
    it is her heartbeat
    she hears more than voices
    and that sound
    most profound
    finding herself
    after all the old noise
    settles down
    and she knows
    she can and does exist
    even when no one is
    and in that state of existence
    the song in her heart
    still knows what love is
    because it is life
    always there
    always pulsating through
    in that state of peace
    of ease
    of knowing everything is
    all right
    even in the darkest night
    life’s heartbeat
    comforts her
    until the morning
    bathed in total
    brings her forward
    to the bright new day
    where trust
    a certain must
    all begins

    © Janet Rice Carnahan 2022

  15. Tuned right into your prompt today, Walt and Marie! Music is such a muse all by itself! Always inspiring! Such a beautiful way to work with poetry! Thank you for your poetic offerings today! What amazing realms of possibilities, too. Love it!

  16. Oligarchs of War

    All the Masters of War
    so power-obsessed
    send young men to conquer,
    to kill, and suppress.

    Backed by dirty money,
    they relax on their yachts.
    When the boy soldiers die,
    fresh ones take their spots.

    The land is destroyed,
    there is blood steeped in earth.
    No forgiveness, no soul–
    you have traded self-worth.

    (inspired by Bob Dylan’s Masters of War)

  17. ALL the Pretty Little Horses….

    Don’t you cry,
    Go to sleepy, little baby.*

    Someone like me,
    Came and took
    Her children…
    And left the mother alone
    In a house wondering…

    “When you wake
    You shall have
    All the pretty little horses.”*

    She wailed out her heart
    Knowing her children
    Were lost
    Sleeping in beds
    Who knew where…
    They know
    The people who took them, but
    Won’t tell her where they are.

    “Blacks and bays,
    Dapples and grays,
    All the pretty little horses.”*

    She did the best she could…
    But her house was broken,
    And she had no car
    To take them to the doctor,
    And her cupboard was empty
    Cause it is a week
    Until her stamps come in,
    And her man took last months
    To trade for drugs…
    Oh, she wanted her babies back.

    “Way down yonder
    In the meadow
    Lies my poor little babe.”*

    If she had money
    She would buy her a small farm,
    And grow her food,
    And her babies
    Would ride on horses.
    No one would take them then.

    “Bees and butterflies
    A-peckin’ on its eyes.
    Poor little thing is cryin’, ‘Mammy.’”*

    She crooned by their beds
    Hoping they could hear her somehow.
    She knew they were crying for her.
    Her babies loved her, and
    She wanted them home, and
    They would have full bellies,
    And she would croon
    Them to sleep as she laid down
    Beside them
    How much she missed her babies.

    “Blacks and bays,
    Dapples and grays,
    All the pretty little horses.
    Go to sleepy, little baby.
    When you wake
    You shall have
    All the pretty little horses.”*

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 5, 2022

    Traditional African American song from the days of slavery, that Songcatchers made a record of in the early 20th century… I thought I would give a different side of Child protective Services… the parents and in this case the mother’s side….I loved the children, but I hated the pain I caused to others… maybe one day I will forgive myself.

  18. Just My Imagination – The Temptations

    “But it was just my imagination
    Runnin’ away with me
    It was just my imagination
    Runnin’ away with me”


    Paint me with the fine flair of particular poetry,
    and watch me dance a wholesome jig.

    With the paintbrush of wily words
    on canvas and become a thingamajig.

    See the charismatic color of words wholly free,
    the spirit of imagination running, skipping—

    squirming, leaping away with me.

    Poetry. It’s just my imagination,
    running away with me.

    So just let me be.


    It’s just my imagination,
    running away entirely.

    © Benjamin Thomas

  19. There are no lyrics as a base for this, but boy has this prompt moved me to celebrate song.


    It is the language of a country
    my soul is longing for,
    and music a remembrance of
    my home.
    Listen to this whispering wind,
    a melody of changing octaves,
    loud and hard the rush,
    then quiet across the scale.
    Thunder, even thunder,
    has its pitch,
    the tenor of a crack of light,
    the bass of rumbles rolling over rain.
    If all the world, creation,
    speaks in song,
    why not the soul, the spirit in us,
    I would not doubt
    the breath He breathed on us
    was breathed in song.

    Leaves flutter with staccato,
    rain tinkles on a stone,
    and gurgles are the lyrics of a stream.

    His beauty, oh what beauty,
    resides in sound and song.

    © Damon Dean, 2022

  20. Just a closer walk with thee….

    “Just a closer walk with Thee,
    Grant it, Jesus, is my plea,
    Daily walking close to Thee,
    Let it be, dear Lord, let it be.”*

    Each morning as I wake,
    I say morning I say a prayer…
    Don’t let it be more than I can take,
    Keep me close, and keep me safe.

    “I am weak, but Thou art strong;
    Jesus, keep me from all wrong;
    I’ll be satisfied as long
    As I walk, let me walk close to Thee.”*

    Every day, I am weaker still.
    I feel me stumbling each step,
    Hoping that your strength instill
    By holding me up as I walk.

    “Through this world of toil and snares,
    If I falter, Lord, who cares?
    Who with me my burden shares?
    None but Thee, dear Lord, none but Thee.”*

    My heart wails out to Thee,
    Often my weeping goes unheard,
    But I know that you wept for me,
    And know my cries are always heard

    ”When my feeble life is o’er,
    Time for me will be no more;
    Guide me gently, safely o’er
    To Thy kingdom shore, to Thy shore.”*

    I know you know the days
    That I have left… just be with me
    Take my hand, and guide my ways
    Until I cross the river to your gate.

    Just a closer walk with thee…
    Lord keep me strong and make me well
    This I pray you will walk with me,
    Make my days a joyful song.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 6, 2022

    Traditional African American hymn * This song probably dates back to before the Civil War and sung in African American churches… it has always spoke to me deeply…

  21. Drunk on Love – Rihanna

    “I’m so intoxicated
    I love the way you taste on my lips”


    I cherish the way you taste.
    On. My. Lips.

    The rare spice fix—of saffron.
    Washed down with white wine.

    It exuberates your ecstatic flavor.
    Magnifies your fine, fragrance.

    I am wholly inebriated.
    Intoxicated, with your love.

    I am drunk.
    On your touch.

    I can’t seem to get enough.
    This cup is empty.

    Fill. Me. Up.
    To the brim.

    And I will cherish your taste.
    On these lips.

    © Benjamin Thomas


    When a song
    persists for long
    it can become a part
    of comedies, of tragedies
    and other vivid memories
    that linger in the heart,
    for trenchant tunes
    stand out like runes
    that make time loath to start.

    NB: The inspirations for this are Without a Song, by Vincent Youmans, Billy Rose, and Edward Eliscu, and I’ve Heard That Song Before, by Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn.

  23. Blow the Candles Out*

    “I like your well behavior”*

    I like that you are polite,
    And I hope you do not mind
    If I take a bit of liberty
    To say what’s on my mind.

    “And this I often say
    I cannot rest contented
    While you are far away.”*

    It seems we live so close,
    And yet I know there are miles
    Between us,
    And the rains have been falling
    Much too much.

    “The roads they are so muddy
    We cannot out about”*

    You might think I am a bit forward
    But I wondered
    If maybe, you would like instead-
    To see where this evening takes us,

    “So, take me into your arms my love
    And blow the candles out.”*


    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 7, 2022

    This is the oldest folk song I collected from England from the 17th century. Blow the candles is a duet… with a man and woman singing back and forth. This is the woman’s part… The man in the next verse says that they need to be careful not wake her parents. She tells him to be quiet… And so it goes back and forth and in the last verse he says to her if we are successful you name it after me. I suspect this randy song was sung in pub with people laughing and going on… This was fun to write, and I am not feeling even close to my best today… and it cheered me a bit.

  24. The LORD thy God in the midst of thee is mighty; he will save, he will rejoice over thee with joy; he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with singing. Zephaniah 3:17

    In college I learned to sing this as a song…singing it just made the joy flow down over you….

    IN the midst of me…

    Before I was born…
    I did not know the drama
    Of those did not want me…
    But God wanted me…
    He knew people who would need me…
    But all I know that
    As I was created
    God rejoiced over me with song.

    And though there were those
    Who harmed me…
    He sent to me three angels
    Really people
    Who spoke to me one day,
    And I heard His love.
    And it saved me,
    And he sang over me with joy
    For I felt it flow
    Down over me
    And into me,
    And pulled me up from the darkness.

    He taught me to be still…
    And to rest, since me a man
    Who reminds me to rest,
    When I push myself too hard.
    For in God’s love I am rested.

    He made me a warrior
    Born of hardship
    And brokenness,
    But stain glass windows
    Are made of broken glass
    and are beautiful.
    He knew a warrior
    Has scars,
    And Jesus was a warrior
    For he had scars…
    And when I go to battle,
    I know that before me
    He has cleared the way.

    Sometimes when I sing,
    I feel his voice send
    Joy over me, and that
    Cup overflows,
    And want to dance,
    And I do dance
    If no one is watching…

    I am thankful
    For the songs
    He sings over me
    For they make my heart sing.

    Mary Elizabeth Todd
    June 8, 2022

  25. Grass

    MacArthur Park is melting in the dark
    all that sweet green icing flowing down…
    Richard Harris

    seeping down into the zebra grass
    the Kentucky blue some stray fescue
    the whole thing sagging now
    distorted as a funhouse mirror
    until I’m wrenched sideways too
    thinking to have a thoughtful walk
    until this hot summer rain dimpling
    dry dust into dirty nickel scallops

    here I was thinking I had it all
    figured out in the way one might
    congratulate oneself on culinary success
    tossing the magazine with the recipe
    because it was all so simple and sure
    you almost had it memorized until

    this rain blurring the edges of memory
    the magazine a sodden heap in the hedge
    and you mid-path drenched even in your waterproof
    pavement steaming traffic sizzling singing
    past as you start to realize it’s all so elusive:
    trees crying park ponies huddling
    all of it streaming by in a thousand
    tiny rivulets gone lime green even
    your tears as you wipe your face
    wet for no good reason only to find

    your fingers are tiny trees and you
    are rooted in place no witch way
    about this melting flowing so that
    you glance around furtively for
    flying monkeys or a lurking lion
    but there’s just the icing swirling
    around your feet and the drops
    plinking onto the sweet greenness
    that is you tonight become grass.

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