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Poem

The spindle hammock of reason
Sways cradle to the sober mind.
In the raiment's velvet honeycombs 
My sanity catches cuddle.

Amid willows dangle meadows of wit
With backs leaning again the gusts of thought.
Spurs of the willow grin shade upon the greens,
Tussle the fiery winks of the sun.

A galore fleet of intellects stoops
In the nebula tawny of dusk
I sway a bulged sane
To absorb the jingles of the chariots. 

Eyelids shut, I tune low the knob of palpitations 
Dilate the ingresses to the soul 
And let the gale of humour rage in.
My castle is pregnant with tintinnabulation.

On the igneous splinters of psyche, I tramp 
May the beating of my ardent tread
Spring rhythm to grapple on.
Let my boughs of logic sigh with each muffle sway.

The spindle hammock of reason 
Sways pouch to the sober mind
I dilate the ingresses to my soul 
To absorb the jazz of the chariots.

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