To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

She held it
all of the feathers;
all of the hell
that ever mattered.

The curse
thee accused
the allegations
of a child abused.

Sry, cold, nightmares
of the very old.
In a pen, in embrace
all of the fear
all of the hate.

"Right, with me!"
"Write, with me!"
Every new dream,
write with me
using the dragons flame.

Red, blue, green,
the very chartruse color
of fame.  No swords, no
hard words, no martyers
do we stir.  

And mask all of the dead,
with the life of every word.
Left unsaid,  He alleged
that I had proved luster
to remove his head.  

And the mask stays
as a true love of words
wonderful words we shared
in stead of our lovers bed.