| when we were young we were the kings of carrot flowers and all the dreamy dreamings we'd ever had came true because for all they needing for to being was believing and be they were and bes and been. now we were old we are the kings of paisley sofas and all our dreams have all been dreamt and were and ever been they stood or felled, but say we 'bout regretting: don't, with regard there is no chance to do again! speaking here I me, my pallet pills and carrot friends, might we killing kill our dreaming dreams: but to living make's much harder! Can dreams make goody I? Oh no, no, we besting aim for granted mights, letting bads off to bady martyrs! speaking then I you, your losing legs and paisley heart you may not be the one I love, but dared I just but less, and lesser loves as mine will fall like bones and ribs and skulls make hills. towards fuller loves, one step, two steps! unto you my flower friend, who grows through bones and starting over mayhap you are the groaning bones for others who'll be walking and up and up and up they'll over you and all the others who like as you they'll tire talking. unto you my flower friend, who fearing shrinks, but secret grows, I dreaming dream you up and mend, and trot up over after and off my toe you'll soonish find that flowered flower who'll be spun up you and up and higher laugher. when we were young; then we were old; carrots kinged; flower behinds speaking oft to flowered, flowering and flower friends about our dreams our hope our lowing tries and middling highs laughing up the could-have-beens. |
