Ground Level

Just leavft the dress upon the dressing table
And the whorse in the stable
As long John lion is in the den
Then all the grass men in the garden
    - One called Gordon may compose
As corpse or life filt' coloured gnome
And homer, humbug, lady bug
Count your spots, count your luck
.....1,2,3,4  6,5,54,9

And all the washing on the line,
Once for the tumble, dried as current 'raisin',
And strong went wave, the weave received
You better beg your stripy seas:
Of 7, multi vital’s to the min,
And the sun that sits on the horizon,
As horizontal bench, the branch of zone
You never made bed on debt nettles of loan

The garden bed it bakes like bread,
The horse is left in ground cement,
And bird cages: 50 to one, those hen
Hen nights will never be the same again

when, oh then in November, leave the silver birch in the Winter,
Dress the scarf with a snowman, in the once time after Autumns and after midnights type land… ’bronze, as sandman’