Four eleven
every year
My four elevens
are very dear
Four elevens,
help me say.
That I’ll be back,
to help you pray.
Who’s for a quadruple k,
the triple thing thing went way way way
Quintessential if you please,
The branches of five are leaves leaf’s leeves.
Four eleven
twenty twenty
the worlds aghast
in this land of plenty
Four thousand years,
you wanted separation.
Now the moral ground,
being of lower sensation.
You’ve had your rest,
enjoyed your sleep.
Who could argue,
with all that pollution you keep.
Those toxic words,
and offending phrases.
Thank goodness consciousness,
doesn’t come in pages.
Or does it?
if we step back
seeing it as the editor did
And judge it for
what other writers editors did wiz
Meditate on that time and place
you’ll soon see what restored their grace
Whether it be a Dutch train crash,
or the artistic impression of a whales tails crash.