The Grass is my carpet
The Sky is my roof
These Trees are the walls
There’s no plaster or nails
The woodpecker hammers the holes
The wind is an oscillating fan
The squirrel and robin are my friends
The squirrels chatter
The robin sings
The colorful leaves, a Picasso painting
The fireflies, my night-lamp
And it’s free
Every twig on the ground beckons me
Every sprig that jumps out flirts; what a tease!
The dandelions are little suns
I’m growing little golden orbs of seed pods
that blow like snow in the summer air
I don’t need a bottle to hold the moonshine
It dances over me all the time