Flannel
Eyes like a picnic,
I get wrapped up in them,
And sigh blissfully,
As the ants carry us away.
Face of a forest,
Serenity incarnate,
I float away on a dream,
As the ants march along.
Hear the woodland folly,
As it emanates into your owlish ears,
And wave your twigs around in the air,
As the ants keep scurrying.
Leaves go crunch,
Like the jaws of a monster,
As we are launched further into timber,
By laboring ants.
You know I love
Bitter green emeralds,
But in a jaded way,
Like the ants back at home.
I hate camping,
Don’t you?
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