In this real world
I can feel the long grass
Brush my knees
And hear the soft whisper
Of the breeze calling
Go home, go home
As the daylight turns to night.
In this real world
I can see black specks
Circling the sky
Using high-pitched squeaks
As they locate each other
In the twilight.
In this real world
I can almost taste
The sweetness of summer
On my lips
As the bullfrogs call
Goodnight, goodnight.
South Deerfield,
Massachusetts
