A hungry fox found the town crops
And then a mouse and bird
Invited their respective flocks
To feast as one great herd.

The trick of life is putting locks
On things for which the keys
Are in our pockets or our socks
To do with as we please.

Both bees and Tack pulled out all stops
To meet the critters’ needs,
So they would break down the town box
And spread all of its seeds.

The town of Crumble emptied out
To build itself once more,
While all it needed was one sprout
It got them by the score.

A pebble spilled on down the hill
To lead its many friends
In avalanche, for come what will,
They’d show this town its end.

Rough Tacker felt a rocky thrill
As he was buried deep,
But he would need no pick nor drill
To save all from the heap.

The flowers led, and do so still,
Up to the loving light,
So the town grew as it was filled
Up with the mountain’s might.

The town of Crumble bloom by bloom
Swirled with the world around,
Combining, growing with more room
For any in their town.

A quiet creek set out to wreak
Its havoc on the house
That welcomed in the coming drink
Too happy to be doused.

Wet Tacker gathered up the leak
For his deep garden rows
Where sprouts had all begun to peek
Convinced that soon they’d grow.

The bumbly bees were happy weak
At all the hinting buds
For they knew flowers would soon sneak
Up to the world above.

The town of Crumble cracked like crabs
As hard things must to gain
A greater place, shells are safe traps
That shield and then contain.

A gentle breeze touched on the trees
And then it tore them down,
There’d be no simple sights to see
In this old hollow town.

The town of Crumble came to be
When stars all glanced away,
When they looked back a town of three
Had sprouted from the clay.

Young Tacker was the biggest seized
Out of the living soil,
The other two were modest bees
In search of flower spoils.

The town of Crumble sat like dew
On clay from which it came,
Its purple twists of red and blue
Leaped like a living flame.

“What can I get away with?”
Is important to be asked.
“What can’t I get away with?”
Points you to your next task.

Sometimes you say something
To hear how it sounds,
‘Cause in a half-full head
All it does is bounce
Off other unsaid things
That sit around
And wonder about
Those barking hounds
That won’t not say
Every verb and noun
That splits the dark
Of the last half-ounce
Of thought they’ve got
In their smiling rounds
Of upturned lips
And curly crowns,
And with that thought
You might half announce
You’re off to search
For half-holy grounds
Where the score is kept
In half amounts
And the fact you said it
Means it halfway counts.

The mountain asked the blue-black bear
If there were better places where
The berries grew and fairies brewed
Their mushrooms in a twiggy stew.

The mountain asked the black-blue bird
If air blew sweet as it had heard
Between the peaks of highest spires
That reached and sang with heaven’s choirs.

The mountain asked the rainbow trout
If waters burst from richer spouts
Among the crystal crowning alps
That held star dew within their caps.

The mountain asked and it was asked –
If all of us keep coming back
What matters best at this or that?
What mountain crest has ever sat
Upon a height to ever match
The love with which we all were hatched?
Our home is home, that will not change,
No matter what the mountain range.

There’s a thing that feeds
On the lively breeze
Of your yawn and sneeze.
A mere breath won’t do,
And nor will two
Or three or slews
Of gulps and gasps
Or rips and rasps
Of coughs and laughs.
No, this beast drowns
On shallow rounds
Of breathing sounds.
It needs the best
Deep in your chest!
A breath with zest!
So it sneaks with pepper,
Boring stories, feathers,
Bits of colds and other measures
To get you spawning
Sneezes, yawning,
It goes conning
Life from out
Your crumbful mouth.
Listen for the quiet shout –
“Bless you,” hear it,
For it will mean it
Though you’ll never see it.
The world fills holes
With hidden souls
That eat from oddest bowls.

You’ve been awful sassy lately,
Your grumpfulness is almost stately,
You’ve impressed the irksome greatly,
You’re royalty among the jerks!
Keep up the good work.

I think I’m growing bark
And turning to a plant!
My skin grows rough and colorful,
I won’t do this! I can’t!
Please, Mother Nature,
Give me one more chance
To be a little boy
And laugh and play and dance!
Wait, is that a zipper?
Taking another glance,
Someone must have dressed me.
Who put on these pants?