We Huddle With Friends

A troop of Echoes slowly creeping towards the edge 

It watches them filled to the brink of sensation 

The watcher is unseen tulips beneath the snow when the words of a Madmen are heard as truth gives the child the teat 

Blow dandelion parachutes into his ear frail forget-me-not seeds 

The sleeping beast with mud in his eyes pitted against himself burns the soul and tortures the brain 

We huddle with friends till we have power again when the fall of summer begins and I hope the fall of the child begins.