Cindy Dafforn
Of bustled long dresses and pure white lace.
A century of carriages and lovely white horses,
Gentlemen are just that and come a courtin.
I see my favorite meadow full of flower and weed,
Please God I don't want to wake up I plead.
Sitting under the willow tree with a lemonade,
The best I ever tasted, I know it's homemade.
I gaze up at the house with pillars of white,
The ivy drapped balcony is a breathtaking sight.
The song of the cicada pierces the dusk,
Stealing the aroma of jasmine and musk.
It is quiet now and the moon is low,
I do declare, I hear the cotton grow.
I lay in my victorian bed,
A long auburn braid flows from my head.
A brilliant quilt lay atop the sheets,
Cascades of red roses and green border completes.
Oh so much peace and splendor,
Could life be this tremendous I wonder...........
I wake with a startle to an obnoxious sound,
The smell of factories and chemicals surround.
There are no meadows or cicadas here,
Just dying trees and cockroaches appear.
There is frozen lemonade,
It's never homemade.
deconstruction by Matte Elsbernd
© Copyright 1997