Trance

A swing, and the weighty bat comes down hard.
On that slouch of a balding character!
How dare he encroach upon my territory?
Intrepid, that pesky little Mr.Thumbelina!

Trodding alongside the Line Of No Control,
and prodding the fraying rope that lay,
he pranced about, in and out-A challenge, eh?
A kick on the shin, a limp 'Ow'. Rest in Peace.

Up, once again, and round-eyed with wonder,
An air of a prince that housed his torn pride,
A watchful glance down the shady lane,
And we're back to being what we are!

A jesting look, and a peeping tongue,
and all the care in the world in a heap.
The heap that was lifted in my arms, O precious,
and scattered across the ripples of the ocean.

(And, secretly swore a thousand curses,
at that wretched filth called Mankind)