The old blanket is so hard to discard

dramas have unfolded in its folds
upheavals of winter's orogeny
trills of two birds in ecstatic thrill
to the rest in the ripened knowledge

we have made a home
we have earned it.

In the still of night
under the old blanket
the tales are relived
without a touch
a word..

The old blanket is so hard to discard.

Thrown like ripples of a star
From a dreamer's somber shade,
I gazed about frisky birds afar
In coats of blue, gold and red,

And they sang: Sky maidens we,
That dost float on high forever
Atop vales, mountains and seas,
Forests, and many a lonely river,

Lets flap our gentle wings and wing
Yonder the land of lofty mountains,
Where dwelleth the mighty King
In halls bedight with silvern fountains

Beneath temples of burnished gold,
Where golden run nectar streams,
Where beauty by any bard yet to be told,
Where leaves dewed by fair sun beams;

In a realm where naught doth ever age,
Where song birds croon loveliest lullabies
In a realm where love is the language
Unto all that walketh – unto all that flies.

And from there we’ll fly nevermore
But mellifluously whisper a paean
To echo golden from shore to shore,
Beauteously through many an eon.

There lies one in Rome
With whom all England was blest,
Whose bright star came home;

And if thou wouldst roam
To seek for all that is best,
There lies one in Rome

Beneath stately dome --
A spirit too young to rest,
Whose bright star came home

And whose living tome
Gifted the heavens their crest --
There lies one in Rome

O'er seas laced with foam,
Whose words still quicken our breast,
Whose bright star came home --

His name gleams as chrome,
Where water writ his bequest --
There lies one in Rome
Whose bright star came home.