Sneak from your
Ramble house of briars
Where your father sleeps
In German
Follow the clouds
That fleet from your mouth
And scatter into
The dark
The paddocks in moonshine
Like a soft undersea
Follow the glow behind smoke
And the trees
All the boys there speak
In musical tongues
And they're fuelled
By a wild neversleep
#NaPoWriMo 2013 poem number 23
© Brendan Bonsack
April 2013