The sky was as blue as Kalamazoo.
The wind was as bright as the stars at night.
We were paid in marmalade.
And kept it where the winter played.
So was the eagle's flight.
Mostly to the right.
Onward through the night.
Until the moon was out of sight.
No time to pay the popper's fee.
Or save the symbolic tree.
Butterflies built crystal eyes.
Of monumental size.
Tales of tales on forgotten trails.
Hung on clothes lines between the sails.
Sun fried cow pies.
To test our bare feet fly.
Oh to not harness that power.
For just one hour.