The Path That Leads Below Poem by Paul Bennett

The path that leads below

Oh Oh heliotrope, damson, lime and spotted goat
Dancing on a gossamer line, strung upon a Wendy's mope
Parched beneath a rising sun, healed by clouds, some lumbered on
Some numbered with labels, yet - forgotten, crushed daisy, cherry, blackberry sotten

Crimson wickling upon banks of shade,
Some blessed with tunes of cherrypop juice
Badgers, frogs, weasels, tufted bunnies,
Doves here choose
Elves, sprites, magic here be woven
until night hour chimes and dusk be showen

Mud pies are Wendy's craft, butterflies
entwine her, a dragonfly flutes its emerald ambition with wings weft of nought
While bugs of numberless feet do jive and cavort
A sonnet in dance to hail the cool valley heart,
their joy in sharing they strive to impart,
to greet their guest without disdain
for she is a princess no longer in pain

Hours pass within this vale, time passes here
as worms in a tomb. Laughter is had as a draught to be shared.
Motes float and gladden the air.
Come here, come here child - be beyond all despair