~His eyes are in the palm of his hand,
the blue sky– all in his mind.
He wants to find new colors–
Who knows what he will find?
The wind is on the front porch,
the dog’s mouth so quick to foam.
A tornado suddenly blows you away;
a long, long way from home.
Kansas is gone–
the tin-man said,
as the poppy fields
donned its’ millionth head.
A crimson explosion–
a juicy, ripe plum;
and one peace pipe
full of opium.
John, George; and Paul
were comfortably numb.
Poor Ringo got a blister
on his poor drum thumb.
This day could not
have been any more fun,
when Paul proved that
“Happiness WAS a warm gun.”~
.
