(boy in yellow)

Comes a boy dressed in lemon yellow (why?)
A friend of my son (dressed in orange)
(Are they a couple of fruits, do you think?)
And the reason is he’s eager to decipher
And convert into his own tongue
One of my solid object-poems
One of those kept (in the shape of an unscrambled puzzle)
In one of those other nondescript boxes over there
(Were he not a friend of my son’s would he even had ever heard about them?)
Well let’s see
Does he know that the ultimate sense of that object-poem can only be extricated by one or several dreams dreamt by the decipherer?
And this only after two or three weeks during which the brain has been more or less able to digest it?
Digest (that is grasp intellectually) most (or better still all) of its insinuations?
The lemon seems in awe at my ominous words
And yet how meekly accepts the “challenge” (his word humbly)
So one adds the following
That here’s the box
That he’s free to use his own time to do whatever he wants with it (his time) (not the box)
That the box one expects to get it back with all the pieces yet there
And...
That under no circumstances will one’s help be (ok?) forthcoming.