We keep yapping about gold of silence.
A silver version is average Adam’s apple
Going up and down ,in indecent haste,
Something of a woman-induced effort
In the garden of mischievous serpents.
Actually ,the world never existed except
In night’s sleep, as somebody’s dream
In the cloth-cradle ,as bundle of sleep,
An electric fan stirred above ,to breeze
A bawling bundle to sleep off dreams.