Father Land


Bells ring from the father land
Angels sing from the tree
Honey crystals Leak
As the liquid runs free

Pea bodies get stuck
In honeys golden mess
Poorly equipped
In their loosely fitting insect dress

Rain beats on the ground
Sprites shuffle and scream
Moving their little legs
The weaker fall prey to the stream

Vines whip the bark
Of their very own trees
The dance of the self slash
Catches pace with each breeze

After a long day of dirt
The bugs hang up their wings
The scuttering of dried greenery
Slows and no longer sings

The river winds to a hush
The vines hang like limp string
The crow takes off his beak
And the bee takes of his sting

A sudden flux
A flashing white light
Signals the faint sound of bells
Leaking out of the night

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