Twelve people sat around a table: Two of them were angry Because one of them was Green; Two were incensed Because four of them were Red; (Ironically, one of the Reds Was also the Green); The two who were Yellow Weren't irate, merely huffy; The Northern one was sore And also exasperated Because the others Wouldn't play in the snow; The five Blues were frustrated Because almost fifty percent Of them were hot under the collar About the sceptics And the other lot were downright Annoyed with the persistent Nature of those that Were determined to endure.
Big Blue, Who wore a great big floppy hat, Lifted himself and declared: "This farce is over!"
He trumpeted to the machine, Which had been ticking along Nicely in the background, And it immediately stalled To a stuttering, terminal halt In a cloud of smoke and steam.
Another unhappy man appeared With a box of tools To examine the wreckage. A wildly excited man jumped after him, Holding a microphone, And gesticulating frantically, As he documented the Mechanic's work.
"We'll come back when the Machine is fixed", expounded Big Blue, His floppy hat wobbling with hilarity.
I saw the moon walking Down the street. At the cross-roads He waited for his moment. He opened his soul, From within Emerged a powerful Locomotive bristling with steam. It raced away Into the distance And the moon Seemed to lose its shine. In desperation It planted itself. A small shrub sprouted. Growing quickly The shrub developed Into large tree, Bearing fruits Of different varieties. I saw peaches, oranges, Lemons, bananas. The fruit ripened rapidly and fell Children gathered Below to taste their sweetness. But the tree still grew, Taller and taller, Until the crown was Masked within the clouds. The tree spread wide As the trunk expanded. It was so wide it would've taken An age to circumnavigate. The growth was now wild And clearly unbalanced. As the wind blew the tree creaked, Bending, bending and failing, It crashed to earth And the children Scattered like its seeds. As it fell it cleft The clouds in two And sun-beams glimmered Across the woody remains. The warmth weakened it, The once rough bark melted Into a stream, a spring, Which filtered through the earth. A river of fresh water, It pooled and the children Returned to bathe. Beneath the water a shimmer grew And the children cheered. Luminous, the shine was evident As the moon returned and Rose into glory above, Returning to the heavens Where it belonged And triumphantly Sailed westward Into uncertainty.