The Wooden Oil

Come here, let’s burn the wooden oil.

Burn it all, burn it all, till the Lantern shines.

Don’t think, just breathe and listen to what I whisper.

Don’t trust me, we will wither.

Listen. Can you hear the singing frog?

If you do, then close your eyes.

And try to find the bluebird that brings you joy.

Don’t trust me, we will wither.

How can there be birds, when there is no sun.

It is not the Sun, but it is you.

How can there be birds, when there is no sun.

Listen to me, let’s burn the wooden oil.

Look. I see the singing frog.

Heis naked, I bet he’s cold.

Burn the wooden oil, he shall be warmed.

Look again, but he’s singing with joy.

We should find the bluebird; she must be with the Sun.

But don’t be disappointed, if a bell lies there, instead of the burning Sun.

Here comes the snow, the Sun is unreal.

We’re withering, let’s burn the wooden oil.

Listen. Can you hear that sound?

“Help, help, help.” sings the little bluebird.

 I wonder, what can be done.

“Sir, please, take my wings.”

Look. A cup of Sun. She really is with the Sun.

“Sir, please, take my wings.”

Look carefully, there is no Sun, there is no cup. Lying there, only, is a shining bell.

And now a bird, with no will to fly.

Listen to me, child. We need to burn the wooden oil.

It is true, there is Sun in the cup. Why can’t you see?

Come here, let’s sing like the frog.

And let’s walk like the bird.

We don’t need to burn the wooden oil.

I wrote this poem right after watching an amazing animated series on Netflix, Over the Garden Wall by Patrick McHale. This poem is basically my interpretation of the series.