The Ache In My Weak Brains

Orchards in the sun close to beehives They were always on my childish mind Centipedes on my skin Stopped me; from sitting still The ache in my weak brains When the school bell rings Twisted like barbed twines in the ivy vines When the evening blushed and the bats Circled a campfire above the wheat fields I'd danced in the wind, the sweet meadow dust That rinses off the wings of crows As they perched on a hay barn, shining gold Where I'd wander silently as a thief Too scared to blink for fear of what I'd miss. Sneaking around milk churns Fields wet with morning dew, cobwebs I'd slip back into school and its chloroform daze. And count the clouds blocking out the sun And sink back into my cage Wandering what on earth I'd done wrong Why this hatchling had its wings clipped and folded Why this metaphorical leopard has got no spots And has its paws in useless worn-out books Peter and Jane books, Play with us. Me, I felt like a moth under a weighty granite stone More dead than a bug in a Datsun Sunny car's radiator grill.