The Eleven

High green chilly winds and windy vines
In loops around the twisted shafts of lavender
They’re crawling to the sun
Underfoot the ground is patched
With arms of ivy wrapped around the manzanita
Stark and shiny in the breeze
Wonder who will water all the children of the garden
When they sigh about the barren lack of rain and
Droop so hungry neath the sky
William tell has stretched his bow till it won’t stretch
No furthermore and/or it may require a change that hasn’t come before
No more time to tell how, this is the season of what
Now is the time of returning with our thought
Jewels polished and gleaming
(Six proud walkers on the jingle bell rainbow)
Now is the time past believing the child has relinquished the rein
(Five men writing with fingers of gold)
Now is the test of the boomerang tossed in the night of redeeming
(Four men tracking down the great white sperm whale)