My Wall

My fantasy wall is ninety feet tall.
No one gets in and no one gets out.
Bricks intwine vines of curvilinear lines,
and there’s a spigot that spouts fresh coffee.

My wall emits melodies of the accordion style
that sounds of Paris and pebblestone aisles,
where gelato is served and it’s Spring everyday,
and clouds are a thing of the past.

There are no pesky frowns in my secluded town
because that simply isn’t our nature.
Words hold only sincerity, and the severity
of superficial quality was lost long, long ago.

Petunias frame my beautiful wall,
painted with ribbons and swirls.
It’s cemented with songs that can only belong
to the girl with the curious curls.

Animals talk and the world is a song
-- but only on my side of the wall.
No one gets in and no one gets out,
but why ever would I want it to fall?

My grass is greener, and my sky is the bluest
blue that you ever have seen.
Stars shine every night, and we never fight
or say things we really don’t mean.

Mosquitoes can’t reach me, nor can the bees
whose sting makes me fall to the ground.
Now tell why, in this great big wide world,
would I ever want to be found?

My fantasy wall keeps me safe, keeps me sound,
and I see as far as I want.
It reaches the sky, and unless you can fly,
you’ll never infringe on my ground.