Behold the giants walking
Magical, in single file,
Through the clouds they wade,
In mysterious rhythm, without talking,
Each spindly stride, a country mile,
Behold the giants parade!
Led by a towering peacock-stork,
Three zebra-tree-men dance,
To old-school funky from New York...
And in the wake of their advance,
Rain clouds form, full of art,
Precipitating inspiration,
Raining-down cool and hip,
Aesthetic inundation,
Which lingers after they depart,
Like the wake of a laden treasure ship.
Behold the giants' ambulation,
Soaking the soul of our arid nation.
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