BED ELVES

by Arthur Smid

A woman in the room, she is the house,
The fabric on my bed in fulfillment of her.

Bed elves, baby dreams in her making fun,
The caterpillar eats a drop of dew.

A prancing pony, my faded wallet
Trees eat carbon sun, she leaves

A man in the house, he is the room.
The children on my bed in fulfillment of her.

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