I DO NOT HAVE

I do not have a tub with legs
to soothe your brittle bones.
I have a house in Camelot
with bricks of lucky stones.
A stallion grazes near its walls
with mane as white as silk.
He feeds on sordid tumbleweed,
and churns it into milk.
He drinks from out a silver trough
which daily doth he fill
all with this creamy liquid
underneath our window sill.
I fain would ladle you a glass
but dare a drop I take,
the slow, kind horse grows nervous
and my lucky house may break.

1970s