Wherein humanity hath not stray’d
By the opening of the bay,
Shall be our home,
The gully’d gateway.
Where our parents shalt not seek
‘Neath the crooked cherry tree,
Shall be our parlor,
The dining, the nursery.
Where being live daren’t be,
Sporting driftwood fence weak,
Shall be the yard,
In whispers I speak.
Allow the wind, allow the free
Beginning become my
Reality!
Genre
Notes
Some random thoughts put together. If you have any suggestions or some fun stanzas to add, I'd love to hear it!
Comments
Where our parents shalt not
Where our parents shalt not seek
‘Neath the crooked cherry tree,
Shall be our parlor,
The dining, the nursery.
This was sweet and lilting. I remember so well playing in our secret places. ;)
I love this! It brings to
I love this! It brings to mind the fort my friends and I had outside under the oak trees. We had an old wooden fence (not driftwood) surrounding it, and trails leading out. We even had a fake grave and headstone. Gah, those were the days. Anyways, I love your poem. It has a sweet, whimsical feel to it, and I feel refreshed after reading it.
I don’t thrive off of chaos: chaos thrives off of me.