The Dream: A Poem

Sharks ski in the plateau for money's townish gain,
Monkeys lark under the winter's gaze;
I drive away some country's lame,
and toil the lands as chocolate's game.
Gone wild aloof to bidder's crown,
skipped phrase akin to ladder's tail;
Which way they marched till world's a-fazed,
and come back a-weary with the summer's glaze?
This bed, untaken, for love-ish's saint--
Mine too, unravished, till the morning fades.

- Elaine