It is in that wooden place
Among the too-close trees
Under a canopy of woven reasons
That block the lancing stars
Balanced on the edge of possible and improbable
We choose from a bouquet of what-if tales
Paths to tread carefree
Always avoiding the cold shining steel
That patrols around the edges
And reflects images of reality
In a clarity
Nobody wants to see
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
It is in that wooden place
Among the too-close trees
Under a canopy of woven reasons
That block the lancing stars
Balanced on the edge of possible and improbable
We choose from a bouquet of what-if tales
Paths to tread carefree
Always avoiding the cold shining steel
That patrols around the edges
And reflects images of reality
In a clarity
Nobody wants to see
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