Fatigue looms red, above like lead.
"I'm way too old. It's too late!" I said.
But a little pixie by my bed,
keeps prodding, poking, spinning his head
Go on! Make some fairy bread!
I dream I’ll gobble it, sniff it, pat it,
spin round in my pretty pink party dress.
I’ll wade through the crowds, the bullies, the boys
Past party pies, the pastries, the toys
Straight to white triangle joys.
They’re fluffy white clouds, that fairies grow,
they’re sprinkled with heaven’s meeds.
They’re picked and bottled like globular beads
Filtered, lacquered, picked from weeds
And they call them Rainbow Poppy Seeds.