“About A Mile Away” — A Poem
About a mile away with a quiet sky is a land of daisy
Busy bees, fiery fairies, sleepy snails; with no winter no snow
Old world sparrows flying together with worms crawling beneath
A landscape just for you and me and there’s no room for hazy
But for the sake of Adam’s children, the land has been disclosed
Mankind can’t come if not in the season of the Advent wreath.
About a mile away is a land filled with riddle and snare
Riddles. Snares. Numerous of them for the delinquent juvenile
There’s no need to think for there’s no window to break
His cheeks flushing, his blood rushing as the eyes glare
Black as blood; the street is no romantic aisle
Encounter Persephone by the sycamore tree near the lake
About a mile away o’er the valley; divine harmonies and lofty castles
The list is still unknown: harpies for the bad, unicorns for the good
A broad solemn land of either daisy’s petals or dark sycamore leaves
Only for the December Advent, the land can be enjoyed with no hassles
Nonetheless behind the gate is always a mystery. And would
you be in the land of daisy or snares on your Christmas Eve?
About a mile away the land of daisy needs coals to blaze
Mayday! Snare. Snare. Snare. Riddle. Riddle. Riddle.
It’s a dark winter; frozen lake but still with Persephone
God’s sculptures crying and bawling; try to get out of the maze
of riddles and snares. Loud roar coming from the middle
Thunderous, daunting, damp sound; a merciless cyclone.
About a mile away Peter’s troops come to rescue; saving
the wailful voices from the lady near the sycamore.
And from the innermost darkness, the last voice is freed
Grace the trace, Eve’s children shimmered in pixies are smiling
All rescued are put together with the daisies; ready to adore
that serene ambiance with sparrows who eat seed
About a mile away with a quiet sky is a land of daisy
Busy bees, fiery fairies, sleepy snails; with no winter nor snow
Old world sparrows flying together with worms crawling beneath
A landscape just for you and me and there’s no room for hazy
Sweet melodies fly through the air; passing the hedgerows
The land is open for mankind to bequeath
-chtrn
