WWW. WARBLINGS:

If words were wishes & wishes were words, & I could wave a magic wand, I would wish you the songs of the wintering birds. My words would wend their wonderful weaving of webs spun in watered silk, as smoothe as whale’s milk. I’d wish you midnight wishing-wells, reflecting willful moonbeams; angel´s whispered wedding dreams upon your weary bed. I would walk you through wonderful woods where woeful witches wave wands of wonder dust, where warlocks do their wanderings, & wizards weave their wizardry.  I would will you to wade into waters of rivers wide & streams cool, where willows dip their emerald fronds, tickling toads in secret ponds. We would wonder at whiplashed rocks where winsome nymphs pray & womanly mermaids play, leaving only wisps of myth´s hair upon the stone & long gone songs lingering on the whispering wind. I would wish you the ancient words of white winter wolves, of wallabies, wombats & walruses, of wallowing hippos in water-lillied holes. With wistful whispers we would watch wafting wild waterfalls cascade willy-nilly, falling into waiting pools way, way below.  I would worship you free from writhing wasps & wriggling worm, from painful wind songs where wildebeest roam, from the wailings of whipped whelps, & if it helps, I’ll wrap you in the wrinkled skins of shelled whelks, & whisper in your tender ear, the ancient hymns of wind chimes clear. hand in wanton hand we´ll wend our weaving wanderings, from Woodstock to wonderland, treading forest floors of willow bark & mottled wattle, beneath a canopy of foliage in winter green & apple, hugged from dust motes of whirling heat. Wishing would lead our meanderings alongside bubbling brooks, gurgling streams & webbed-footed whirlpools to quench our weary feet. Wafting past our senses, wood smoke & wisteria, chanting, mystic druids, howling wolves, wasps in spring hysteria. We´d hear beyond our ear-wigged deafness, wooden-fluted pan of cloven hoof, his wilting woe-begotten tunes of woaded past. Let us word our way past whittling woolen lads & willing wily lasses, through whistling breeze, under shivering trees.   I would find words to take you through windows  curtained in green willow, softly billowing to the tune of spring breezes,  dressed in floral friezes, while your head lies  upon the dreamy pillow of lost childhood, days of willowy skies, womble eyes, whippets & whippy ice-cream smiles. Wishes would weave windmills of warbling wrens, wingtip to wingtip with sipping, dipping humming birds, bejeweled feathers dew-kissed with the dawns of centuries past. My wishes would kiss the waves of seas, lashing & splashing, of lakes as still as death´s breath, of tropical isles & exotic trees. My sacred words would wash you in crystal white wine, & I would wend you down lanes of love divine, past Wuthering heights & withering glances. My wishes would whisk you swiftly away from wimpled nun preaching the woeful benefits of having none, away from wailing trees, from spiders weaving sinful webs & the stings of spiteful bees.  Take my hand, & leave behind weeping widows weeds, let us go towards the horizon & plant life´s new beginnings, so that we may reap loves new flowering seeds.  We shall find the utopia of no pain, where only love resides, to where only the gods remain. Take my hand through these words, & let us make these wishes come true by one stroke of my errant wandering pen.