Secret Picnic Spot

There's a secret picnic spot
 A place for us to greet
 To stretch out our feet
 If we go there now
 With blanket and basket
 Lay down in the tall grass
 Spread our things out and feast
 Meet the setting sun with our blank slate
 My distractions concentrated on an eight by six piece of wool
 As darkness seeps through the trees
 And spreads over our secret picnic spot
 We'll dig in
 Dig with our hands, tearing the roots
 Digging, scraping, digging
 The moon comes up howling
 Racing, digging, scraping
 Breezing dark across the sky
 Caught in the branches
 Swaying up and over
 Through the clouds and black
 Starless
 Secret
 Basket turned broomstick
 A hayride across the big blue and black
 Buried, deep mounds of dirt and stardust covering up
 Eight by six piece of wool draped over fine lines
 The curves of a feast
 This is our secret picnic spot
 Turned inside out and made pure
 By the heavy wind and rustling leaves
 From now till we greet again
 Joining hands and feet
 Tender teeth, digging and scraping
 Tender feast
 Moonlight sway
 Over all