On a cold clear night, a dream
A dream of thirty-seven

Thirty-seven thin figures stand
Upon a smooth white plain
That glistens like purest sand
There bodies completely still
Yet long auburn hair dances
Lightly back and forth
As if under water

Though these delicate figures wear all white
What they harbor remains unknown
Are they angels, bearing gifts of love and life......

Twelve months they whisper
First once then twice

.....Or malevolent beings
Bringing forth illness and tragedy

Twelve months they whisper
Now ceaselessly

Awake, oh bright beautiful morning
Sun shining through the still drawn shades
Downstairs loved ones waiting
To celebrate this speacial day
Upon the kitchen table
A pure white cake
Thirty-seven candles all aflame
Loved ones gather round
To sing aloud
Happy, happy birthday

There's is nothing as beautiful as a beautiful face
Tall
Thin
Radiant skin.

A face like no other
And eyes like the sky
Physical beauty in every way
Then we locked eyes
For only an instant
But it seemed all that I needed.

As a vain grin stretched outward
And screamed
I'm cocky, conceded!
I'm better than you because I was born this way
I have eyes like the sky, and a statuesque face
A body that's thin with curves in all the right places.

She saw me, enamored
And it humored her
And just as quickly my thoughts of her changed
There is nothing beautiful about a beautiful face
Unless there's a heart twice a big
With humility,
Grace.

A cryptic message is scribbled
on a small white paper
Then passed to a thin pale figure
as he leaves the small room.

Pale figure ride
Pale figure glide
This will surely be your cure
One last hope for the hopeless here

But why cure a man in one day
Why collect a single fee
When they can treat him for a lifetime
And get paid repeatedly

Oh poor sickly pale man
If only you knew
What cruel jokes they play
At the exspense of you

Ride pale figure
Glide pale figure
Into the arms of a thousand angels.

He won't eat indeginous
Says it's way to bland.
Won't try meals from the melting ***
That is this land.
Said he tried it once
And it made him ill.
This is why he won't venture outside
Of a happy meal.
But his tall tale is still amiss.
Says he vsited an eatery
Where they feed him this;
A whole chicken in the ***
The feathers give the soup flavor,
And fleas.
Oh please, oh please!
Let's eat the supper then enjoy the disease
That comes when you succumb
To a poor sous chefs orders.
Maybe he is right?
Maybe we should secure our borders?
Nah, the man's just rich and crazy.
White hood hanging in the oval office
Like, "Bannon made me."
Back to his reteric about the borders.
One tall order from a short sighted man
Who thinks building walls
Can protect "the promised land" .
Land, of course, that was never even ours.
He'd be better off living somewhere like Mars.
Red-orange skin, meet red-orange soil.
Mixing martian sand with his Mcnugget body oils.
So maybe, maybe we'll all get lucky one day
When Musk builds a rocket ship
That'll carry him away.