I hear of words that fly from tips to borders.
They land on ears and lips, bounce from one head to another.
They are swapped and shared.
They are put together and arranged.
They mean nothing, bowing under the weight of expression.
They are sang and shouted.
They are small and priceless.
They are thrown and spewed.
Acting as both weapon and shield to those who yield, before and after.
Formed from small elements 26.
animals and giants make the greatest of friends.
under a woe, we agasp at sightly humours.
talking with voles and riders about happenings two villages across.
i listen with a venomous reprise...touting and towing.
waving and bowing.
our canals are overflowing.
our boats overturning.
i, bouncing from subject to subject, forget about unhappiness.
holding hands, our hearts entwine and we start to believe in colour.
at the days end the wind brings us home to the laps of our loved ones.
hair shining like silky weaves.
mouths open and closing with comforts we, carfeul not to tread on their sleeves, that is where their hearts lay you see, sing string sounds and bell tones.
skipping skipping skipping underneath a garden.