And The Boy Loved The

Thanksgiving Dinner's Sad And Thankless. Christmas Dinner's Dark And Blue. When You Stop And Try To See It From The Turkey's Point Of View. Sunday Dinner Isn't Sunny. Easter Feasts Are Just Bad Luck. When You See It From The Viewpoint Of A Chicken Or A Duck. Oh How I Once Loved Tuna Salad Pork And Lobsters, Lamb Chops Too Till I Stopped And Looked At Dinner From The Dinner's Point Of View.

Once I Spoke The Language Of The Flowers, Once I Understood Each Word The Caterpillar Said, Once I Smiled In Secret At The Gossip Of The Starlings, And Shared A Conversation With The Housefly In My Bed. Once I Heard And Answered All The Questions Of The Crickets, And Joined The Crying Of Each Falling Dying Flake Of Snow, Once I Spoke The Language Of The Flowers. . . . How Did It Go? How Did It Go?

I Myself Do Not Believe In Explaining Anything.

I Am Writing These Poems From Inside A Lion.

My Beard Grows Down To My Toes, I Never Wears No Clothes, I Wraps My Hair Around My Bare, And Down The Road I Goes.