Mouse of the Longstead poem by Margaret Leora Workman; Warponie Art

Mouse of the Longstead.
I added the longstead month
and the longstead year did agree.
It agreed with me.
The maple of that tree
longed to be
at odds with thee.
That tribe longs to be free.
Tongue and cheek always have a way
of being under the hay.
Come what may.
I want it to be added and planned
so that everything will be manned.
Cannot we see what has been panned
out of that river?
Oh, just to take another dip of pleasure
out of that suitcase.
Pack your bags…
that is already been accomplished
but not done or surrendered.
How can we understand
the ordered?
Let me tell you that It was never ordained or ordered.
I added the longstead month
and the year did agree
it agreed with me.
Too much wine and no play
will make it impossible for you today
to understand the underlying truth
of the hay.
Wanted it to be by chance,
free to do your dance
of poverty and hypocrisy
of sooth saying and gutter spray
with all of your snake oil
that is out and about.
How is that tree?
Why do you ask me?
Ask that tree with your own voice
just make a decision and a choice.
My heart is pained,
it is hard to breathe.
Because of how the world does seethe
among the cherry blossoms
that fly away and never return.
They start as the color pink,
but the blush becomes red
and when they return,
it is with the smell of the dead
who caught them in flight.
They stood in all of their might,
raised their hand
and played to the band.
Oh, blackness and decay;
the crash of those cymbals
We have to tell you to use thimbles
for sewing that wound
which is so small but gaping.
The light, observe the shadows
the multi layering of the windows
next to the passing day
into the dawn.
The sun will come up
and set again, just as expected.
I added the longstead month.
by Margaret Leora Workman; Warponie Art