Fantasy

He was making his way,

Stumbling along the stony path,

Trailing behind him were spools of thread,

Panting beside him was his faithful companion.

 

Up, up, up, he went,

Huffing and puffing, heaving and phewing,

The spools of thread leaving a trail along the stony path,

Hanging its tongue out was his faithful companion.

 

At last, he made his way on top of the hillock,

There, he saw to his delight,

People, the size of a particle,

Houses, the size of a matchbox,

Roads, gleaming like rivers.

 

Playing hide and seek among the pearly white clouds,

Was his dream plane.

Jumped he, trying to catch its wings,

But alas! Fell down, he, with a bang.

Wondered he aloud, “This ain’t fair,

After making my way up the stony path,

Huffing and puffing, heaving and phewing.”

 

Tugging his sleeve was his poodle,

Frightened it was,

The roar of an engine, echoing in its doggy ears.

Persuading it was of its master,

To let go of the plane,

And continue with kite flying,

To enjoy a warm summer’s day,

With biscuits and bones.

 

Aish

Dated: 11/01/12

 

 

 

 

 

 

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