around that coffee-smell-morning time
when the winter-bright beams right through the blinds,
two little fists would rub eyes, hair, face
and descend the fortress of Sleepytime Place.
the squared mountain next, with wary feet
was step-by-step until complete.
then stood, triumphant, the little man
in After-Eight-This-Is-Grown-Up Land.
the fresh settled shake-and-vac snow
would disappear soon, he knew he should go
before it’s too late, in the carpet begin
to draw his usual banana grin.
finally came Breakfastdinnersupper Land
where there he met the bigger hands
and placed before him the buttered pancakes.
‘ah, what fine foods this place makes!’
‘one day i’ll rule this place
and stuff my face with all the pancakes!’