It's one of those days when nothing seems right.
The flowers look slightly afraid of the light.
The bread is too bouncy. The cat is too flat.
There's honey and milk in her favourite hat.

The chairs in the kitchen are inching away.
They'll be out the door by the end of the day.
The doorbell keeps swearing. The shed is on fire.
The grandfather clock is beginning to tire.

The bin looks unwell. It smells of old trout.
Before it gets sick she decides to go out.
She goes for a walk in the woods down the road,
Where nothing has ever been known to explode,

Where trees and wild flowers all thrive in sunlight,
Where peace and repose will arrive after night,
Where creatures are grateful for what the sun's heat gives.
They'll never release a long stream of expletives.

Martha begins to relax as she walks.
Her mood can be heard in her voice as she talks
To blackbirds and squirrels and small timid shrews.
She's gone from the world run on money and booze.

She walks down a wide sunlit path till she sees
An old bearded man in the shade of the trees.
The ground surrounding his feet is alive
With animals, birds and some insects who strive

To climb up his trousers. Some get all the way
Up to his shoulders where they stop to play.
As two tiny birds eat some seeds from his palm,
Martha says, "How do you reach such pure calm?"

He says, "You should hide in a soft mental hood,
Especially when things aren't going so good,
And things have a habit of doing just that.
The rain only comes when you don't have your hat.

"When life's looking pear-shaped there's no need to shout.
The play of the day will soon play itself out.
The stage will display scenes of trouble and woe.
The trick is to smile and say, 'On with the show.'

"And not be concerned with the words of the actors.
Invisible bards drive invisible tractors
To track down the people who've strayed from their herds.
The bards will entangle them in webs of words,

"In plots full of pratfalls and pitfalls in places
Where roads have deep potholes, and knots in your laces
Are always undone so you'll trip on the road.
The long swaying blades of wild grass will explode.

"The bards see themselves as the farmers of people.
A thoughtful, considerate farmer of sheep will
Make sure that his herd are kept mentally fit.
They need to be worried and hurried a bit.

"And so farmer bards will bring drama our way
To hasten the passage of time through the day.
But they go too far. They cause mental pain.
Ignoring their script is the way to stay sane.

"You've got to just let all the action go on.
You'll be there in person. You're mind will be gone.
Inside you'll be looking at cats on a wall,
Wondering which one will doze off and fall."

Martha is grateful for this good advice.
She says her goodbyes to the man and his mice.
She makes her way home where the table and chairs
Have got out but they fail to add to her cares.

She gives them a wave and she opens the door.
The bin has created a mess on the floor.
But Martha's not bothered. The smell's not so bad.
It's not like the noxious fumes made by her Dad

When he undertook his alchemical work.
He learnt from a well-dressed, mysterious Turk.
He spent countless weekends perfecting his craft.
Neighbours, work colleagues and friends would have laughed

If any of them had discovered the truth.
He said he was making an edible flute.
He failed in his efforts to make gold from lead.
He made many rose-scented snowflakes instead.

She looks out and sees the flames dance in a breeze.
The fire in her shed triggers warm memories.
She thinks of those days with her Dad long ago.
Nostalgia instils a warm internal glow.

Her house catches fire but this fails to erase
The smile on her face. She puts out the blaze
Using a hose, and she whistles a tune.
This seems like the best way to spend days in June.

She goes back inside when the flames cease their dance.
The mess from the bin is being cleared up by ants
While she makes the tea. She breaks into song,
Safe in the knowledge that nothing is wrong.