Fiddleeebod

when flowers become butterflies and butterflies become flowers we will walk in dreams of enchanted bowers

She disappeared into a whiteness of mist above the billowing waves. Far from home she flew to dwell in the comforting echo of caves. With blended thoughts, dark and light woven, she sat, content to wait. Oh, what revenge she would deliver. Oh, what horrible fate!

The bowling ball and the popsicle met on the path to the palace.   Said the bowling ball to the popsicle, ‘Would you believe that my name is Alice?’   Said the popsicle to the bowling ball, ‘Why not if you so say?’   ‘Because,’ replied the bowling ball, ‘my actual name is Fay.’   […]

My name is not something you buy in a store, Oh, Johnny Oatcake, My name is not something you find on the floor, Oh, Johnny Oatcake, Instead my name’s something found high in the sky, Oh, Johnny Oatcake, Weather Satellite Remington Bligh, Oh,Johnny Oatcake.

He wove a sash of chocolate He wove a sash of ice When asked to choose which one to wear He said, ‘They’re both so nice. I’ll wear them stuck together with a paste made out of rice.’ And off he went down the lane trotting like a collie He paused beside a prickly bush […]

Reginald Spoonmerry went off to swim wearing a hat with a vastly wide brim. The hat, it was blue where it fit on his head, but the rim all around was immensely quite red. Shouting ‘Hurrah!’ and ‘Bumpeddy bump!’ Reginald Spoonmerry did in the sea jump. His hat floated off and sailed out of sight. […]

For being the first to awaken, I gave her a copper penny. She bowed her thanks politely and told me her name was Jenny.

Tammy’s neighbors gossiped, kept up a constant whine. Tammy’s neighbors wondered why she never toed the line. The orders weren’t muddled. In fact, they were quite clear. Gold was the chosen color for all the leaves this year.

Where The Wild Things Are is quite a good book. If you haven’t read it, you should take a look. Or go to the opera. They made one, you know. It’s a rip tearing snort of a sing songy show. You’ll enjoy it best from the very first row.

There is a snowman on my head. I’m wearing socks, one blue, one red, hopping on one foot into town clutching a pillow of eiderdown. – The pillow bursts and feathers fly. How did this happen? Why, oh why? The snowman melts. I slink from town covered in fluffs of eiderdown.