Revisionist Poetry – When A Dally Dillies, v.2

When a dally dillies

it’s quite uncommon
for flowers to wilt
when the staring cow
curls its tongue.

Too much, too soon —
even I need limits:
the soft shore of space,
the steady pull of time.

The boat cuts through the blue.

Finally,
the clouds float over me
like friendly waves.

Goodbye, rational thought.
Goodbye.