I can see a flock of flying hippos,
Painted in the colour of magic.
‘hippopotamus’ – a word, like a chuckle of an infant.
They whistle a melody of calm,
and I murmur into their ear
a spell of mischief; tickle their mind.
They will let me ride on them,
fly me to candyland, they promised.
Their eyes with a psychedelic twinkle;
Can you hear them jingle?
Can you hear this sound of magic?
Or is it just me and the intimacy of this pill.