where the woodlice play
Where the worms run deep
And the ghosties sleep
Where the thorns are thick
And the mud is slick
And the wood is stacked so high
Come outside and I’ll tell you what
You whisper in your dreams
When you lie in bed and
I sit real close just inches
from your head
Come outside when the sun goes down
When the wind is cold when
the rain is strong
When it starts to snow
and I’ll tell you what
you want to know.
Posted in Das Gehirn, ferner liefen, Metamorphosism
to the woodpile. The air is sweet and the clay is cold. Let her sleep while you stare at the apple tree and decide which limbs to prune. Plum tree too.
The day is cold but over quick enough.
There’s enough to hear despite the ringing in your ears: a scratching pen, a passing car, the clicking of a working house, a sigh, coffee beans grinding.
The stretching of a cat.
The air is sweet so come outside for a little while and let the young one sleep.
Posted in Das Gehirn, Familie, ferner liefen, Metamorphosism
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