Flights of fancy take you into
realms of rancy, dancy, prancy.
Swirly girly giddy gancy
kinds of glancy.
Puddin and pie right in your eye,
oh my, my... sigh, sigh.
Soft and swoony,
so blue moony.
So what to die for,
that's what the sky's for,
here's to the mud in your eye.
Surface so foamy,
fingertips so roamy,
eyes touch so cuddly,
shoot the sky.
When you get ready, ,
hang on to that rocket, teddie,
and fly on the sly.
Into the realm of your inner space,
trace, trace where you never erase,
and cut to the chase.
What's really on your mind?
Image Courtesy Credence.Org
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Copyright 2008 © Ronald W. Hull
1/19/08