hip hip hooray

the sips come easier,
one by one,
as the whole of the whole
becomes undone;
and the smiles spread
all around the table,
covering the grimaces
as best they are able;
and the song goes 'round
and 'round,
and the muffin man
is running the town;
the conductor stops
and consults his watch,
but his watch is not able
to capture the smiles,
disappearing now,
all around the table;
and the pretty little girl,
with the curly brown hair,
smiles through her tears
until she is almost not there;
and the morning begins,
as the mourning begins,
and all the beginnings
reconnect with their ends;
and we all stand and sing,
and our voices do ring,
they ring and they ring
as the muffin man sings:
"aces and eights,
aces and eights,
happy the man, whose
woman awaits"
and a cry goes up from
the hardy band,
and it rises and floats
all across the land;
and the poets do dream,
and the ramparts do gleam,
as all 'round, nothing
is quite what it seems.

February 16, 2010.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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