Only the Things that are Dead are Electric

In the realm of Whimsy everything’s verdant:
Centaurs at leisure braid each other’s hair.
Ogres belch as they work on their cross-stitch.
Weeping willow branches sparkle like wind-chimes.
Knights take care not to trample on butterflies,
Lest the King be unable to brew his tea.
Unsurprisingly, mimes have nothing to say.

Velveteen unicorns eat day-glo batteries,
Drink carbonated rainbows.
On Thursdays the King distributes gold stars
To everyone who has achieved.

P.F. Hawkins


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