Living the bright side of the moon
my eyes never be filled with dust
my sight real clear, despite the mask
of cloudy skies above my room.
I’m staring misty red
through windows catching breath
my sleeve a clarifying tool
faithful to whom she thinks a fool
she wipes –my nose instead-
the clearest view I met.
My garden just a fairytale
mysterious the waving trees
dancing an after-party-breeze
their autumn-shadows rary pale.
A frog is gargling loud
though princes never shout
they only offer beds with peas
where real princesses never sleep
but mice, running around
maybe get horses-proud.
Living the bright side of the moon
I wonder every shiny night
if meowing cats are booted tight
my neighbour Bluebeards’ groom.
© JELOU
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