In amber-tinted afternoons while the old ones
Drink sable tea and listen to the sunlight
Dabble in the goldfish pools
The children and the griffons play mindgames
On the lawns.
Their laughing shatters a time for reflection
Into featherstorms and games of hopscotch
Along the tree branches.
Only the children can hear the griffons speak
In crescendo symphonic bursts of primary color
Or see the griffon's thoughts take form
Like the rich scent of herb gardens blooming at sunrise.
Only the griffons can taste the children's dreams:
A rich flash of cinnamon and apple cider
Steaming in a thick red mug.
So the old ones make sure the breakables are safely put away
And maintain patient silence
As children and griffons together run riot
Over flagstone paths and garden walls.
A whirl of follow-the-leader and sailor's horn-pipe
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