• In turpentine the bubbles blow
    Wand’ring vibrant pastel show
    What daring soul would then, perchance,
    Go rush that last forbidden dance?
    Alternating boughs of gears
    Whisp’ring all of happy years
    Float by tinkering wistful tales
    Checkmarked full of loathsome wails
    To think? Nay, they say to dream
    Of what beasts then should never seem
    Lovely arching bells writ “Please!
    Bookkeeper, keep the books with ease!”
    Display not your honored rite
    Have it lay with fine print’s light
    Flit on, flit off that neighbored metal
    And heed the deft tones of the kettle