Kissing eyes light the way
for the Rat. So low lay He
that none can hear His squeal,
as the giant’s foot crushes Him.
Gone are the days that the whirlpool lay still
for the Swimming Child, gasping for air
and dry land;
in the belly of the toad.
Kissing eyes bask in the early sun,
washed by daffodils and lilies,
awaiting a day of Peace.