Childhood Campy Chimera Curtain Call
Arctic bitter dead of winter cold
polar vortex deep freezes each lovely bone
excellent existential prized memory
swimmingly recalls boyhood
listening to drone
of various and sundry
en deer ring fauna
extant amidst greensward,
where imagination hath flown
to imaginary Eden lifting
uber a maize zing ears
cocked towards
Mother Nature's petsmart crafted chorus
flushing out soundcloud
queen of happy campers
with bees zee winged
wonders as they hone
suite tracks unstinting
well crafted aural presentations
intended to entice
a mate opposite jejune
targeting their search
nsync with one or another
favorable counterpart, this buzz zing
destiny could favor a loon
or some other apropos biological entity
(or perchance if desperate to mate) **** sitter
another species including the manifestation
of microbes on the moon
whereat boys and girls bounding,
exclaiming, and yelping
joie de vivre asper when counselors
blow whistle call at high noon
hour of day iz lunch, thence resuming
their made up fun and par lore games
such as knight in shining armor
dashing off to save
damsel in distress signaling
sans SOS and favorite ring tone tune
of potential prince
where young love doth Flickr
oblivious to a similar situation, aye lichen
to avast Marcy's playground
such panoply a prediction
forecast by Doctor Punxatawney Phil
a blue oyster cult meme burr
thus, in lay person terms
six more weeks of winter for 2018 -
so stay warm to stave off feeling offal
bodes ill for species who clamor for warmth -
supposed tell tale shadow
spelt "N+I+L+L"
and remain in hibernation
if opportunities allow,
and be thankful for not bing forced to mill
around seeking warmth
(case in point a street person),
but ye and the big or 'lil
body of warm flesh adjacent to thee
(this day and age -
gender preference a moot factor),
or take stock, stock and barrel,
how other creatures great and small
burrow underground under a hill
or reef amphibians, mammals, reptiles...
instinct can remain 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea
a fictitious place evoked by Jules Verne,...
hm...maybe he might breathe
courtesy of an atavistic gill
who would downplay brouhaha
to avoid any cavil.
