The cat in the field scratches the grass
and stokes the grey mare to water the grass.
How now know what cannons know
and where are the dreams that set in the sun?
For all the old hats go silvery down,
and the old gray mare sings as she goes
while evening drips over the bay.
Can the open door know what goes with the wind
or dream the dreams dreaming and go with the dream?
The bard of the bale sees the grass growing,
while old hands weigh the gift of the heart.
How is it saying, the old mare baying
and where are the dreams, the age of old times?
Keep the band playing and steal the ring going.
Ring the ling po(se/se)y and know the old rosey.
Here the grass grows and there bees sting
for all the nosey and honey rose goes.
Keep to the times of all sounds singing,
and follow the dreams that run with the wind.
Here is the valley and know the grass growing
for often the tale is far from our knowing.
Give the grass greener and here is the louder,
the chimes are ringing and sounding their song.
* from my video, Word Salad