When all the music stops
And all of us are props
Behind the narrow train tracks
Find the colored thumbtacks
In the yellow horse hay
In a land far away
Into the bright blue house
It's as small as a mouse
On the crackling old stove
Into the hidden cove
Take just one look around
It's not quite profound
Keep going on your search
But I swear, it's there, perched
On the tan blank cardboard
With the long silver sword
Along the covered path
In the sunshine's heat bath
Some people even say
It's worth more than pay
When you find the blank pack
Of the colored thumbtack
About the Creator
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