Tired brains ain’t good for sensible stories.
I have a lightning crown on my head.
It weaves yellow fibers of electric thread.
I have a cloud scarf that skirts my neck.
Not dandruff, but snow, that speck.
I have a cyclone jacket on my chest.
Blows away ever unwanted guest.
I have a fog belt on my hip.
Droplet-lined pockets too airy to rip.
Hoarfrost pants are covering my legs.
Freezing the water when I wade in the dregs.
My feet are uncovered and made of dirt.
Worms live in them happy, tunneling unhurt.
I don’t know me, but wherever I go,
People sing to me and I think I grow.