dreaming, dreaming, dreaming.

that was what creatures like pancakes do.
they dreamed. she dreamed. and she dreamed many things.
dreamed in her little husk of an egg,
dreamed of the tiny two legged creatures who watched her so carefully,
whilst she fattened and plumped on fruit,
placed with minor care into a green net enclosure.

she wonders, did they dream of her too?
when she sprouted her wings and flew,
the sun's rays a single baptism of a creature like her,
blessed in what once was, and what would be, and perhaps, what could be too.
did they miss her?

but she heard no cars, no slaps of shoes against the concrete when she woke.
there were no voices. no childish notions here.
the willows seem familiar, and vaguely not to her legs.
but remained familiar is her voice, heard softly if you could learn to listen,

"Mix a pancake,
Stir a pancake,
Pop it in the pan;"

a muse, a song?
pancakes, buttery and fluffy-- that was she.

"Fry the pancake,
Toss the pancake—
Catch it if you can."


the leaves taste sweeter here upon her feet.
how long had she dreamed?

gentle, gentle now,
wings unfurling, spread like marmalade on toast,
she takes flight!
and for some reason, the air feels lighter here,
the sun perhaps blesses her with something new, something special,

"pancakes for you and me."