November 13th, 2011

At home

A song to dance...

The juvenile writes a song
The one that’s just enough long
Most words weren't true
What a tantrum the queen threw
 
The song bears a melody in its soul
The queen wore a shoe with a smooth sole
When sung, it transcends the dimension
The fool asked for a dance, no salary, no pension



 
But he lied, a big fat lie as he played the host
It became a song with words true, but almost
And she slipped and fell
Everybody gaped and proceeded to dwell
 
If there is a quest for meaning
But for the momentary dance
Or, the beautiful sounding words...