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In the great Old Grove forests

Perry, Sayva, Diamond, and Jack

Went out and built this tree house

A fine little tree house

It had a ladder, it had a few windows

It had a little garden they built

The garden full of fresh mulch  

Smelling like spiced wood and peppered dirt

In it grew mushrooms

Great beautiful mushrooms

Even The Crow Club paid good money for these mushrooms 

The mushrooms were blue, round, as big as a human head

Some others were pink like a birthday balloon

Or blue like pine fire smoke

They grew and sold many other plants

They grew tobacco of all types

They grew purple leafs

They grew sea foam sunflower 

They grew great green ones 

And a few other funguses and mosses

Southern sand moss

Eastern tree rot

And northern Gaviran puddle flower

All was great to sell or taste

On one day, as a rainstorm thundered on

The group stayed in their treehouse

They smoked from pipes or rolled paper

They ate from jars of peaches and pears

They bit into juicy green apples 

All while they reclined on pillows

Their fingers weighed down on fuzzy blankets of fur

And like that old stump pilgrim story about “The night before Yuletide”

Visions of everything good, danced inside their skulls

Imaginings of birds

Big birds, not like the birds they sold to in their kingdom

There were brown vultures that smelled like brown sugar 

And you could ride them 

You could speak with old extinct seals

Their bones the color of freshly pulled teeth

Fingers and knee caps became numb as the time passed

As paintings never seen before were everywhere in the treehouse

Paintings in the eyes, brush strokes on the skin

An invisible painter, the smell of clay and paint chemicals

Prayers to The Frog and The Loon heard in each ear

Electric light outside

Perfect smoke under the nose

Dry mouth from breathing too much 

Still sweet from eating too much

Relaxed until it will all go back

Back to what it was

But it can be done again

All you need is a garden

Some leafs

And a treehouse
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