oh chesire.

There was a weed, in his path,
and he stumbled on a stone.
A mushroom by the olive tree,
and he fell on his own.

He took a drink by the stream,
and there he wasted his time.
Under a tree in a dream
sleep failed, but he smirked at the sun.

He tasted an olive,
and laid down in the dust.
Woke feeling weighted,
with Wonderland winds a gust.

As the poppies bloomed brazenly,
he sat on a rock,
at the footsteps of a crack
which ran to down to a flock,
of goats.

He wasted his years that day.
as he stumbled on a stone.
Poor lad tripped on a cat that day,
and grinned as he stumbled home.