If I take a little hike
Around my narrow yard
Under my narrow strip of sky
Where will I find you lord
Of the gnomes tucked away
In some dark leafy corner
And where are you sylphs
Caressing my face narrowly escaped
From some old children's story
And the bright sirens of the sun
Assembled in a chorus in the birdbath
Like a fire on a lake
All quietly going about your work
Of creation and destruction
Until the postman comes
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