Gabriella Garofalo writes

Small creatures Nature recklessly hands out

Men mishandle -

I’m listening to the night blue, so what?

‘Load, you bloody load!’ you sneer

If he turns pewter, almost a life -

Look, once in a blue moon, she shows us her true stare,

Is she really a multi-tasking, multifaceted,

Polymorphous woman in career, you wonder -

Only the moon, sorry -

Any luck, any replies?

Nope, has it ever crossed your mind

Binned letters look like snowflakes or ice crystals?

Ever thought all those drifters, homeless, tramps

May feel safe amongst flowers and butterflies

When the sward opens?

But no, no, no free entry for them, only for kiddos -

Why?

Thank God it’s only midsummer

When naked limbs shine with tattoos,

And streets with blood and feathers:

The flamboyancy of killed birds -

Long story short, just when she worried

The land was looking too flat,

The night a homeless in rags,

Fires were running wild -

Well, maybe they were fires,

But she was guilty of a misdemeanor,

Really, all those red ribbons and green nets

Around the shrubs -

Hey, wait, my friend, was it by any chance

God’s whimsical idea?

The whiff of an anorak and all that jazz,

If you know what I mean.

The Ancient of Days -- William Blake