It was because it was
and in spite of the Wizard,
the crumbling of Oz
it was because and
because it was.

Like some long drawn out tragedy
where the forest folk still
badger me
I look for the four
leafed clover
because for me it is never over
whatever it was.

Pixies will follow me and show me
myself in an elf
or perhaps I’m a goblin.

And there is music everywhere
silver notes that streak my hair
dreams of a night where silence rules
soundless among fools he goes

twenty percent of him is still slim
the rest is running to seed.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.