If all the trees were magic trees
And talked among themselves,
If kings could sleep in
daffodils
And bishops danced on
window-sills,
If all the valleys changed
to hills
And all the tens to twelves,
The world would be
nonsensical,
And we should all be elves.
If every street in Camden
Town
Were paved with precious
stones,
If modest souls began to
drape
Their table-legs in decent
crape,
If every squirrel wore a
cape
And had the name of Jones,
I’d weave a robe of beetles’
eyes
And jellyfishes’ bones.
If kingcups blossomed in the
sky
And fell like golden rain
In grey half-light shot
through and through
With shafts of green and
shafts of blue,
If pink and purple chickweed
grew
On every window pane,
All truly tidy folk would
deem
The universe insane.
If we were sensible enough
To hear the bluebells ring,
Were sight so true and
hearts so wise
That we could see with
glowing eyes
Enchantment flaming from the
skies
And joy in everything,
Then every girl a queen
would be,
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