In the Land of Never Almost

A Poem By Heather // 3/13/2009

I had a dream, it would seem
To be of Never-Almost, a land far and wide
It has blue grass, green sky, a Festival of Apple Pie
And the ocean turns purple at high tide.
The people there wear their hair
In the funniest, strangest, weirdest style
A cockatoo perch in one, mushrooms growing in some
One little man had curls piled on, I’m sure they reached a mile!
The Festival that I’ve mentioned before is held on the long north shore
Of the murkiest beach in the biggest town
While they act like slobs, apples are bobbed
They take extra care so as not to drown
Then mercy me, what a sight to see!
They have gladiator fights with whipped cream
And the night is finished up, when they decide to sup
The whole lot of them on a gigantic Pie a` la` Apple Dream
None of them work, they just play Cork
A funny little game with air guns
They race up and down, all over the town
And don’t hesitate to shoot their mums!
I’d be an oddity and a giant commodity
In the strange little land of Never-Almost
Because everyone there, beside their hair
Is the size of postage stamp toast
The animals are so big, a family of ten rides a pig
And cheetahs are deemed very flawed
They run so extraordinarily fast, that they’re back before a blink has passed
And therefore cheetahs are also outlawed.
That’s the last of Never-Almost, the land who’s inside is almost all coast
Where the gummy bears hang from the trees
Where they eat strictly with sporks, and never say pork
And feed honeysuckle flowers to the bees.