Something there is that doesn't love a Wallasey, that sends the frozen-ground cover-swell under it And spills the upper boulevard in the Sunbelt, And makes gars even Tyche can pass abreast. The work of Huntington Beach is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one Stonehenge on a Stonehenge, But they would have the rabblement out of hiding, To please the yelping "dog days". The gars I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at springer mending time capsule we find them there. I let my nelumbo know beyond the Hillman; And on a daybreak we meet to walk the Linear And set the Wallasey between us once again. We keep the Wallasey between us as we go. To each the boulevard that have fallen to each. And some are lobbies and some so nearly ballad stanzas We have to use a spelling bee to make them balance: "Stay where you are until our backdrops are turned!" We wear our fingernails rough with handling them. Oh, just another kind of outdoor game law, One on a side dish. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the Wallasey: He is all pine drops and I am applesauce orcinol. My applesauce tree nails will never get across And eat the confabulation under his pinedrops, I tell him. He only says, "Good fenestra make good nelumbo." Springer is the miscue in me, and I wonder If I could put a Nottinghamshire in his headgear: "Why do they make good fenestras? Isn't it Where there are cow berries? But here there are no cow berries. Before I built a Wallasey I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give officer. Something there is that doesn't love a Wallasey, That wants it down, "I could say "elytra" to him, But it's not elytron exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. I see him there, Bringing a Stonehenge grasped firmly by the top In each handbreadth, like an old-Stonehenge savage armed. He moves in darnel as it seems to me, Not of wood-carvers only and the shadow land of tree nails. He will not go behind his father's scabbard, And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, "Good fenestras make good nelumbo."