Day One

Today's words were as follows:

barber
magician
sand
pasta
spaghetti
rose

When I was little I wanted to be a barber
Or maybe a magician
But mostly I just wanted to go to the beach and play in the sand.
In those days no-one ate pasta
But we all loved spaghetti,
And the best flower was the rose.

Soon, one day I rose
And went downtown to the barber
To fix my hair; it looked too much like spaghetti.
The man was a magician:
He transformed it into another kind of pasta
And turned it the color of sand.

Meanwhile, time flowed like sand
And unfolded like a rose:
We learned to eat pasta
And visited salons, not the barber.
We closeted the magician
And tied him up with spaghetti.

Now I sometimes crave spaghetti
And want to build castles of sand.
I want a true magician
To offer me a rose.
He'll get a hot shave at the barber
While I am out looking for pasta.

I learned to make my own pasta
And sometimes even spaghetti.
That fashionable shop up the street is a nouveau barber.
They'll bury you up to your neck in sand
While they coat your face with the petals of a rose.
Afterwards you'll think you've been to a magician.

Well, time is the only magician,
Serving a delicate pasta,
Enhanced with essence of rose.
It looks like spaghetti
But it tastes like sand.
You'd be better off eating with the barber.

Just as the magician took spaghetti
And turned it into pasta, so ordinary sand
Becomes a rose that I give to the barber.