When A Poet Becomes Mad

If a poet becomes mad,

He will run off into the rain forest,

And make for himself a tree house.

He will make carpets of the lilly

And tables of the hills.

He will WHEN scare the mimosa with a touch,

And make swings of the insistent epiphyte.

He would sniff the forest flowers,

And dance with the forest spirits.

He would imitate the butterflies,

Sing along with the night owl.

He would graze with the hart, due to her calmness,

And walk naked when it drizzles, take cuddles from the coldness.