Paper House, poem by Pamela Hughes
We built our house
high in the air
It was made of paper -
the Japanese sort
the sun slips through.
The floors were paper too.
It was suspended
on a long string
attached to heaven.
God let us hang
our house on the hook.
Clouds came around,
cumulus, nimbus,
cirrus-nebula.
But some people
on the earth complained,
saying things like:
man is not an island -
an education is a terrible
thing to waste.
We said, yeah, we know,
but were still not coming down.
When that didn't work,
they accused us of being high -
just hanging around
being happy,
said we were taking up
valuable air space
(though nowhere near Newark Airport, LaGuardia
or Kennedy),
that we would have to pay:
cloud space, air space,
o-zoning.
PAPER HOUSE FOR SALE:
suburb on earth
all amenities of air,
wil wings of geese,
sparrows
(c - Pamela Hughes)
@музыка:
Пикник - Афродита из пены и щелочи
@темы:
МАГІЧНИЙ ТЕАТР ТІЛЬКИ ДЛЯ БОЖЕВІЛЬНИХ,
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