In The Trees To The Ocean Breeze

by Indian Comma Bean

Little flower turn your eye,
For the sun mustn't see you cry,
While blood fills up the path it took,
The moon begins to sign the brook.

Weeping butterflies arise
To join their moth brethren in the skies,
While prismatic wings are far too few,
The pallid kinfolk now accrue.

Light bulbs suddenly begin to trip,
Sprinkling noir waters for the ships,
Casting anchor aside their metropolis
They depart from a watery necropolis.

Little boy now turn your eye,
For the world mustn't see you cry,
While the lies take up the path it took,
The heart remains in each simple brook.