my shoes are planted here.
I’ll dub it the Forest of Arden.
I’ll dub it the Forest of Arden.
My blue boot-bottoms
I’ll remove and wade in a puddle
in this little cooperative garden
I’ll remove and wade in a puddle
in this little cooperative garden
where all my delectation
grows—cockle shells contrary—
somebody’s Forest of Arden—
grows—cockle shells contrary—
somebody’s Forest of Arden—
the melancholy fit falling
when I see a fallow doe
roaming free in the garden—
when I see a fallow doe
roaming free in the garden—
I’ll dub her Rosalind,
disguised as the same boy
whose Mom was surnamed Arden—
disguised as the same boy
whose Mom was surnamed Arden—
these woods that call like home
to me, no matter what my gender
is, in this little cooperative garden,
my Forest of Arden.
to me, no matter what my gender
is, in this little cooperative garden,
my Forest of Arden.
