This is a poem
Just because.
I know it doesn't rhyme, the shape isn't that nice.
I've cooked it in a cauldron
Like witches do at night.
I've added some pixie dust
For those who are sad and lonely.
A baby unicorn
For those who never grow up,
Even if they just turned ninety-nine,
Even if they are frail, disillusioned or both.
And now, let me think...
We need something extra to turn this into a soup.
A yummy one, of course.
I'll use some river water, a turtle and a baby fish.
Don't look so horrified!
The cooking bit was a metaphor.
My soup is now invisible,
It has flown up to the sky.
Very soon it will be raining on those who need it most.
Please don't worry,
The unicorn, the turtle and the fish
Live in my back garden now.
They've provided all the solace I need.
The cauldron is in the kitchen, patiently waiting for me,
Waiting for another magic recipe.
|
