The Gewgaw

I sit upon a moment’s tree with a gewgaw in my hand and pluck its reed rhythmically to ride the distant land the journ to drift her league to me upon my tongue, her tongue caressing sound relentlessly harmonious lips in song and while my harp does steer me so to galaxies afar many a darkness had me go traverse the lonesome star yet all the time a moment’s tree side on with roots asway an afternoon belonged to me that gewgaw had my day