I BUILT YOU A HOME; I BUILT YOU A CRADLE

But I took those, your lost buds
and placed them in my bleak garb.
I keepsaked those tender babies,
and cued up the honor guard,
and called off my three-headed dog,
and motioned you towards me.
I wrapped them in seaweed,
the weeds from my brother’s sea.
Distilled,  was the tempest in me.

I built you a home;
I built you a cradle.
It was simple.

I crafted it, snapped it
with the tree-sapping ivies, idle,
a cradle for you to nap your days,
where leaves around you
whimper and sidle.
They depend on you,
their goddess idol.

When you’re in a sleep,
your lashes are far from idle.
Your plaintive murmurs against me
are a little trifle.
It is your unbidden simper
that makes me dimple forever.

I built you a home;
I built you a cradle.
It was simple.

Filter out your oppressive thoughts
with Lethe’s groundswell.
Allow me into that,
my construct, the cradle.
Let me in with your buds as well.
Keep them there.
Keep them well.

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