To sniff honeysuckle in the morning sends me up the stairway to heaven. On the fence, the Mockingbird whistled. Hiding within the bushes, the frail Rabbit, his large brown eyes are the doors to the affairs upstairs, the stars. Or is the female Cardinal singing within the spiraling branches of the tree?
It’s your day, fay jay, hey let’s be gay. May I stay? Who cares, the airs are yours as I fly through the Vapours, digesting the contents of the strange message;
“Take the elevator to the Thirty-Seventh Floor.”