Up The Window, Down Through A Tunnel - Poem by Ivy Beam
The tunnel of a window is calling,
It comes to his twinkling eye slowly.
The glass fogs itself; he begins falling.
Pride is a wilderness of the lonely.
So, the next time, he comes with open eyes
And with a payment in his hollow hand.
He clutches a new habit to baptize,
A fat consumer to his own demand.
Oh, he longs for a world so forgotten
He plays the beggar’s tune until it’s gone
He runs and skips from what is rotten,
But he keeps singing a fragrant song.
On and on he’ll go, a head of stuffed cloud
But ‘til the window gleams, he’ll shun the ground.
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