Sitting pretty in my tree, stark naked without a clue.
Writing pretty words of prose, prose I've picked for you.
I see visions of clouds upon sunlight, and foaming, sea-weed shores,
My last breath has been breathed, as the walrus has endured.
This poem is about the impact a person, even in death, can have on
a little innocent child. The Walrus in this poem is John Lennon. And the
poem is specifically significant as it has broken my long bout with writer's
block. Thank you, John Lennon.
