“I told an extremely stupid story about the two Scotsmen who went into a synagogue.” From ‘The Last of Mr. Norris’ by Christopher Isherwood.
We saw lilacs separated at birth and placed on a redwood tree
There were golden trails of fantastic sentences strung along the stream
A pewter rendering of rabbits lit up the night sky
Dashing boulders crying out for more sun sullied our sleep
We likened our mood to that of angels crying over a beautiful sculpture
Somewhere a short fat man made claims about injustices
The timorous sound of pixies dancing across rooftops lightened the mood
All of us thought how perfect it was to be blessed with words
We vowed never to misuse them
Except perhaps in the face of rhetorical blunders
How we missed the passions of friends passed
So cheerfully we told stories, jokes and paradoxes
Nothing could make us squander the wonder of being young
We were at the apex and did not realize
That the only way to go was down
But there you have it
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