Beanings

Bell of the beanstalk
Little pulses
In sleeping sacks
with seemly seems
that make sweet refuge.
Green gram me a message
little runner
and upwards to climb
in your sunny vista.
There's a blue lake
With bountiful butter
for breakfast
with strings
playing nevertheless
and always the more
to grow here.
Beanings, why do you grow
in groups?
Lay in close quarters
when the sun's on just one stalk?
Take a trip
even if in tangled
windings you must go...
rambling
curling
clinging on -
hold tight!
Take a green gram for me
with the scarlet runner
to the sun....
with your podcast
of fresh heart.