To shake a cake we wade in the grass
Of lovely cream, a game of evil sweetness;
The stick is held by its statue offering us,
A lion’s head is a premise to behold.
I must now fade into lights of the curtain
To wade into the light of all dreams that stream.
Take a day of the year and follow a hand
To the mirror of our schemes on this date.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: food