Captain Kangaroo, with a hop and a bow,
sailed the zephyr winds of the Here and Now.
His coat was a sunrise stitched out of jazz,
his boots made of moonbeams and topaz pizzazz.
Krungus Kat, with whiskers askew,
wore a grin that knew secrets only time ever knew.
His tail was a semaphore, waving and sly,
signaling riddles to dragonflies high.
“Where are we headed?” the Captain inquired,
as his pockets spilled marbles and theories half-wired.
“To the land where the clocks take a midday nap,
where space bends like licorice, sticky with sap.”
Krungus purred in a language arcane,
made of Fibonacci spirals and echoes of rain.
“The secret, dear Captain, is this,” he confides,
“the map isn’t paper—it’s the spark in your eyes.”
So onward they bounded, past marshmallow trees,
through valleys of laughter and cinnamon breeze.
The sun tipped its hat, the stars gave a wink,
as they toasted their travels with goblets of pink.
And if ever you wonder, just where they have gone,
listen for echoes at the break of the dawn.
For Captain Kangaroo and Krungus Kat,
are dancing through dreamscapes—imagine that!
-Bearz