Eight Line Poem

Not rated yet.

The tactful cactus by your window
Surveys the prairie of your room
The mobile spins to its collision
Clara puts her head between her paws
They've opened shops down on the West
side
Will all the cacti find a home
But the key to the city
Is in the sun that pins the branches to the
sky.

 

Print version

Information

Previous | Next song

from the album

Hunky Dory