The Puddle - No Kids

Now, since the well’s not the only place to draw water, it’s overflowing down

the stairs and running across the street

Should I be surprised and it’s puddling outside the iron graveyard gate?

Is this all a mystery make for me, enough to keep me going and happy?

Past cemetary after cemetary

With my pockets full of saltwater taffy, a small gust billows the willows,

the gate swings and I can’t dance nor sing no more, a walk at twilight aside

hedges and corridors, what’s all this for? I need a plaything, a season of wild

adventuring

At Cape Cod wondering, just where you go to?

You’re missing screend porches and cricket chirps, a violent crime at the house

down the lane

I may dress like one of the Hardys but trust I am good for nothing,

except maybe a partner on a porch swing