Once I owned a black-glass dog
That collected metal keys.
I knew a holy cat
And hammered out one hundred thousand home-run
slammers with a platinum baseball bat.
Nor was I satisfied with that.
I became a log of long-lost loves,
Sang my song in all the capitals of vice,
And cited law to rogue and saint alike.
I walked through hell in a shirt of snow,
Smiling and waving at those below.
With just my spoon and a bowl of rice,
I crashed the gates of Paradise.
I shall wear the stars for clothes
And see how far forever goes,
For now there's nothing I would do,
To gain again that world, so high—though true—
Where once this darkling sky was blue
And innocence was free.
by Robert Hampton Burt