Secret Picnic Spot

There's a secret picnic spot

A place for us to greet

To stretch out our feet

If we go there now

With blanket and basket

Lay down in the tall grass

Spread our things out and feast

Meet the setting sun with our blank slate

My distractions concentrated on an eight by six piece of wool

As darkness seeps through the trees

And spreads over our secret picnic spot

We'll dig in

Dig with our hands, tearing the roots

Digging, scraping, digging

The moon comes up howling

Racing, digging, scraping

Breezing dark across the sky

Caught in the branches

Swaying up and over

Through the clouds and black

Starless

Secret

Basket turned broomstick

A hayride across the big blue and black

Buried, deep mounds of dirt and stardust covering up

Eight by six piece of wool draped over fine lines

The curves of a feast

This is our secret picnic spot

Turned inside out and made pure

By the heavy wind and rustling leaves

From now till we greet again

Joining hands and feet

Tender teeth, digging and scraping

Tender feast

Moonlight sway

Over all