DATED:sometime in september 2009.
She skipped along , palette in hand,
Armed with a paintbrush and visionsof Oz.
Swept by a whirlwind
To the Yellow Brick Road
She knew not where it led;
Was there even an end?
Should the good witch of the North
Be clothed in a sparkling gown?
And the Wicked Witch of the West
In black robes and a pointed hat?
What if it is done the other way round?
Would appearances not be deceiving
In the Yellow Brick Road?
Is the cowardly lion to join her
In his quest for courage?
Or is the lion a manifestation of her own self?
Would the Tinman desire a heart?
A heart that could be pierced with joy,
Find ecstasy in the depths of pain?
Would she want to paint that too?
Did she ever ask the Scarecrow
Why he wanted a brain for his strawhead?
To learn to construct aluminum bridges,
Built skyscrapers and lay down rails?
Did she know when they skipped along
Of the blinding emerald lights of Oz?
Yet she constructed, brick by brick,
The Yellow Brick Road to Oz.