Come to a Place

I was once in a place that I very well know,

with Marigolds popping where Marigolds grow,

and sun shining down on each inch where it hit,

and sundown glowing, were the moon that night lit.

But morning it was, as on all other days,

and I met the same people, threw the same ‘hey’s,

and I strolled around town no unusual path,

giving nobody pleasure and nobody wrath.

And later it went, my energy swept,

that I wondered on home the way I had left.

That night I dreamed nothing of too much import,

and woke to another day like it, of coarse.

So if you see sun shining down from up high,

and a moon that glows like it in a spot in the sky,

with paths that go places and people in towns,

you’ll be where I saw Marigolds in the ground.