Light descending

Quite condescending

A wooden laugh

Drifts through the leaves

Heartbreak in the breeze

There's something residing

Within this place, presiding

Over every little feeling

That floats inside

The hollow space

Rotten wood and an

Expanse of secrets in

The creaking floor

Outside your closet

Door; there's no room

To play anymore

Fresh from the tree

A golden fleece

Hangs over the rail

No need to sew

What was sown,

The abrasive already

Have nothing to do

Twisted, malleable,

The iris always lies

With eyes closed

The daisy tattle tales

While the pansy cries

And Peter weeps.