Little tiny creatures
Live under my bed.
You can’t see them,
But they’re not inside my head.
They know the words to Bonnie,
Who lies on ocean bed.
They pitter patter in the night
And tell me tales of dead.
Come morn they hide,
Cast a spell so wide,
Yes, much worse than Snow White’s,
And that’s why I’m always late.
I am a forgetful dictionary,
I lie on the shelf forgotten.
Within my pages
Are words lost to ages,
Like woebegone, and wherry, whiff,
Or, hey, wait a minute,
Was it whodunitry or misbegotten?
One word is enough
To end this agony.
Like the parched earth
Thirsts for water,
My ears yearn for it.
To break the heat,
To unleash the storms,
To release the anguish from gaping rifts.
Like mist rising to kiss the stars goodbye.
To sweep away the cold,
To set the frozen lakes and woods
Dancing, alit in the merry breeze
With starlight, dust motes, pollen, seeds.
That’s all it’d take.
But like the last snowflake of the season,
Refusing to thaw,
It stays at the very edge of your frozen lips.