"Where have you been, Puff?" Jackie asked his old friend.

"In Honah Lee. Lots to do there, sorry," Puff offered.

“I've been afraid lately, Puff. The world is a scary place.
Can you use some of your magic to fix some things?”

“It doesn't work that way, Mr. Paper. However, if you wear kindness as your armor
even when the bad stuff is in sway, you'll have some magic of your own
to go out and make things better. It’s the secret to my mystical powers, too.”

The plague raged from the west to east
where once we’d flattered us sound and safe,
and those great gulfs, the burial-pits
were its footsteps, tokens of advancement.
The prints groaned huger, heavier
at the oppressive height of summer;
fed by dark, the dead-carts tumbled
their cargo to cold promiscuities.
In barely a fortnight a thousand corpses
sated the cavities; blanketed by those
appraised of near demise or prey to some
vertiginous fugue who simply lay or threw
themselves on the heaps to seek swift expiry.

Oh dear Phil, tell me what do you see? What do you feel?
Do you see your shadow during these strange-unusual days?
Is the threat of nuclear war coming closer to my door?
But haven’t we already been through this kind of craze?

Here I was dreaming of a wonderful time to enjoy in Spring
Now the darkness looming seems like a depressive forecast
Ominous clouds in the distance tell a different story
But haven’t we already been through all this in the past?

For who knows how many flowers
the bee shall visit to produce a lump of honey- I was thus paraphrasing Upaniṣadas on my walk in suburbs of my city for very long time.

The city surrounded by wineyards
for centuries kept secrets of fallen
Martyrs of Love.

I was trully in love and still am
"to die is not so easy", said to me
The Beekeeper who lived alone
by human but listened for ages
the zooming of the bees

and their kingdom taught him the value of sacrifice, yet he knew nothing about their boustrophedon style.

Why is it you became my helm
Steering me restlessly compassless,
Probably further from north than toward it.
You took my shirt and ripped up every hem,
Stripped me of my fabrics, of my realm.
And no cloth can dry this sea of evading fears.

You made cracks beneath my boat’s surface,
Having me follow through
And put me through all those tears.
But tearing me up was too great a job for you, So you just skimmed through that project too,
Left me thinking you got sick of my blue… blue…blue
Soul.

Upon the bridge of starlight twinkle,
Eyes get lit, in love that sprinkles.
And moon resplendent, in all its grace,
Stands proud above a world disgraced.

Trees lined up with branches wide,
Home to furry creature's pride.
And admist absence of rush,
A magical secret, hidden from us.

A scene of silence, one of peace,
Where noisy bustle comes to cease.
And the slightest crush, of fallen leaves,
Might become a pin drop to be grieved.

he's burning you down with your money
and a third of you still think it's funny
but you'll find no relief
from the drapist in chief
what's the beef, is "the drapist" not punny?

When my love had hit the corner to turn on me,
Like the streets with tape everybody left me lonely;
There I sat all the night to myself on the cold asphalt
With veins etched in my hands like paint in blue cobalt
I saw I was born different on the path only few had taken,
In the midst of it all you came along to give me a saving.

Purpose my angel doesn't end with me, tell me doesn't
Because God gave me a good thing like you to trust in.

for Chief Wiggum pound for pound makes no pence
without sense and sensibility with pride and prejudice.