The ceramic pots
Of dirt and clay
Had a thought
They’d fly away
The heavy earth
Just got them down
Life was stuck,
One said with a frown
One said to another,
“I’ve had enough.
We ought to move—
Call the brothers!”
So late that night,
When the night owls fly,
The pots conspired
To reach the sky
“But how?” said one.
“We have no power.
All we’ve got
Are these pretty flowers.”
“Aha!” said one.
“There is a way.
We’ll get the flowers
To move and sway.”
And so they did—
The flowers shook,
And before they knew it,
To the air they took
The flowers moved air
Like the wings of birds
They swayed and splayed—
It looked absurd
Up they floated
In the starry night,
Flowerpots sailing—
What a sight
No longer stuck
In muddy plight
Sticky earth
Now out of sight
A boy glanced up
That starry night
Saw the pots afloat
To his delight
He closed his eyes
And with all his might
Joined the pots
In their dreamy flight