A Troupe Of Elephants

Giant feet plodding on porous crumbling soil

Journeying south where no man can spoil

On a corridor of green down a strait of life

No man to moan nor any residue of strife


Giants and dwarfs in assorted bliss

Where trumpets lift and born is the trace of a kiss

Mother and calf, on an empty winding road

Journeying together to a waiting abode


Playground of the saints in the absence of man

No sin to chase no civilization to span

Branches rife to transform woodpulp to milk

As outflows love in tides of ivorian silk


Cosmic freedom in the absence of a railing or fence

Beauty streaming through an open lens

Paradise to be found a few miles up the track

Where the night is painted in coats of black


Darkness fills as a thicket falls to the path of sight

Where trickling tears collide as the trumpet’s flight

Fate slumbers as the weary feet finally rest

Endless freedom to roam and love’s bounty to nest

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