Great scoops of ice-cream float in procession
Above the gleaming rooftops in the blue,
From fluffy factories they drift, destined
To feed a greedy god and all his crew.
See silver slivers slide away: would you
Gather them up, please? For we must not waste
Such delicacies. Soon the custard hue
Of evening will follow - oh sweet taste! -
Dessert for the deserving, downed in haste,
Drowned in the shimmering salt horizon,
Deserted, swallowed, leaving just a glue
Of black treacle stirred by bats into paste,
While milk-white owls shake their wings, sprinkling on
The sugar crystal stars reflected in the dew.
Fri 9 Mar 2007
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