Gliding on marigolds of daffodil dew 
Category: Writing and Poetry 

They keep coming
That's OK, I keep running
Leveled like a tide at flood
Left aside like refuse in the mud

Discarded like yesterday's crud
My poetry seethes forth like sweet sticky honey
I spill my words and ask for no money
Never laugh at things that really aren't funny

But I walk forward out in the sun
Asking only that my life be fun
If it ever gets boring, I want to run
Pass me that bottle of sweet aged rum

I run out into fields of green
Spinning and turning in the middle of spring
The crisp new air causes me to sing
On nature's fingers I'll slip my ring

Dancing in flames as bright as the sun
blowing out brains with my poetry gun
taking your reins with light hearted fun
Another bun in the oven and we're done

Gliding on marigolds of daffodil dew
Riding on sunbeams with a cocktail for two
Hovering gently over the ground
As I touch down, I barely make a sound