If the Pipes Call Glen to Glen


If the pipes call glen to glen
and down the mountainside,
the summer went and flower dead,
it couldn't have tread softer love
barely showing canines
and just when we thought we had it
and in the cream yellow daffodils
not one hint of teeth or now and then slowly
wrapping itself around you
a smell of hounds mixed with dandelion.

so happiness, we think, must be drunk!
filled with piggleum and ale
or else come to with some pence.
such confidence,
the spinning and fuss,
but to what.
something so grand will simply be there
In the bee balm and in the grass
without any help
growing in that kingdom,
even still

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