To Bath-time

Oh, to my ritual soaking

I roll up my sleeve

To grip the mountain

It’s rocky peaks a punky pink

It snaps into two

Tectonic plates

As soft as bubble gum

As one is swallowed by a waterfall

Spurting plumes of plum

The other, crushed with a sandcastle crumble

Crafts bubbles from the fountain

And when the bombs fall

They sound just like a whisper

Of clean golden dawns

In crisp mid-September

When to nature returns

The spring of our toils

That’s when we shall bask

In Earth’s heavenly oils


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