hey high

hey high

a sign of the times

hanging on one bracket

squeaks ill of the dread

so 

i write my own poems

i read my own poems

i share my poems

meet me face to face

down in the woods today

and we’ll have a picnic

sandwiches of laughter

on a gingham cloth

well pour each other’s poems

and drink deep

there on the stream’s bank

we’ll write with a stick

we wos here

at the going down of the sun we’ll bundle it all up 

and walk by the light of our brilliance 

that the moon will swoon over