The park bench
\nAnd the sorcery
\nSpellbinding the illusion
\nThere of everything I now can see<\/p>\n
Mumbo jumbo could be that
\nWonder worker
\nWhere we are at<\/p>\n
Autumn the grandmother
\nFascinated she reconciles
\nThe colours come
\nThe colours stay
\nThe leaves of life fall
\nAnd they play<\/p>\n
Our eyes are enchanted one by one
\nGolden applause under the sun<\/p>\n
Rich red ochres
\nSwirling through
\nA shamanistic spell
\nOr two<\/p>\n
The old park bench
\nAnd no one there
\nPerhaps a witch with jet black hair
\nThe supernatural roots of gold
\nAn enormous carpet
\nDrenched and sold<\/p>\n
On the light so pastoral
\nAn english scene
\nThe order all of the routine
\nA swish of fire
\nThe old bell tower
\nOnce it chimed
\nAcross each hour<\/p>\n
Now the solace of this place
\nWhere onceThe robins use to chase
\nMoonbeams in the drench of night
\nTo a paradise thats forever bright<\/p>\n
A road runs through
\nThis avid scene
\nSpattered leafy warm hued a being<\/p>\n
A maiden maybe
\nHer sable hair
\nHer face of porcelain
\nI now share
\nHer smile sweet goddess
\nAradia she
\nIs everything in the world
\nTo me<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The park bench And the sorcery Spellbinding the illusion There of everything I now can see Mumbo jumbo could be that Wonder worker Where we are at Autumn the grandmother Fascinated she reconciles The colours come The colours stay The … Continue reading