In the gloomy gloaming gray, a young man came to me.
He had a twinkle in his eye, which made it hard to see.
He put his hand inside my shirt, to better feel my heart,
“Seeing as you’re still alive, I guess I ought to start.”

There is a balmy baby crocodile in a seashell atop a tree.
She parties with a turbaned Grand Vizier and lunches with an MP.
But when she yawns her jaws, and the birds dance between her teeth,
There’re strands of children hanging there, and this is known as peace.

Three kitties went exploring, on a mission hand in hand,
And found, at last, the great Sahara, a paradise of sand.
Many kitties later and this litter box, vast as the sea,
Was all deplete and browning, used up entirely.

In Egypt they have the Pharaohs,
In France they have the Kings,
But here in free man’s Sheffield
We’ve made our masters out of things.

Yet if I owned a thousand feathered peacocks,
And invested wisely, and made one thousand more,
I’d still live in brackish Sheffield,
And so I’d still be poor.

I was told there would be magic.
I was told I’d wear a crown.
But I’ve opened all my empty drawers
And empty drawers is all I’ve found.

Maybe somewhere it is Christmas,
Maybe somewhere there’s a God,
And maybe someday there’s a free lunch
And I’ll escape this maze of gloaming fog.

Now my eyes had welled with tears, which were plain to see,
And so the man spoke again, for it seemed he pitied me.

Today I talked with my wall clock
And taught it to regret the passing time.
Now it flinches every second stroke
Because it thinks it’s dying.

With these words the old man rose and made to be on his way,
But I’d forgotten he was there, and smartly returned to play.

“In soft deluding lies let fools delight. A shadow marks our days, which end in night.”

– Hilarie Belloc, children’s author

Check out Decater's new novel, available now at Amazon. Plus, don't forget his earlier books: Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.