sundays stories (number one)

Feeling fresh, I arose,
Kissing morning gladly
And the cool, windswept smoothness
Of stone on Ogden Moor ahead.

And goodbye to those
Remnants of green velveteen,
A plum-dream spleen over hills
From the night before.

I saw

The light-head giddiness
Of song along an open road,
and berry sneaks married timid feet
in autumn leaves.

I remembered

That razzle dazzle rosing
Had left me feeling grim.
Whiled away in the poverty of silence until

Too old for toadstools
And boggarts under bridges,
I resolved to take pictures instead.

Arguing writerly inspiration,
Amongst the twilit sight of tall
Trees slowly shorn from eyes by
Enveloped moon.

Wrap me in the cloak of a
Magical, enchanted wonderland
Like Alice, I begged ...

For there is no room for lazy footfall
Here, and you must stay near, little girl,
In this forest walk world.