Far within the forest deep,
where Pixies play and the Willows weep.
There lies a pond with lilies pink,
that within the night, the stars do wink.

Those that the pond loves and feels,
has respect for the Magi ways, will reveal,
to the one who gently sips,
the wish it will grant from whispered lips.

Not far from there, within a glen,
resides a lovely lass named Rose-Lynn.
With hair the color of brandied wine,
adorned with Hiacynths entwined.

A fey woman-child, our Rose-Lynn be,
who walks between dreams and reality.
Born to the woodland Fairy folk one night,
from a Star Flower in the moonbeams sight.

Raised on honey and Humming Bird eggs,
sprinkled with stardust and nutmeg.
Her skin as pale and smooth as Thistle milk,
she wears a dress spun from soft spiders silk.

In the forest she spends her days,
her laughter like bells, while she plays.
Though she loves the life she's given,
it is the wind in her hair, to which she is driven.

She watches the birds while they fly,
as they dip and weave, she gives a soft sigh.
As she watches she wishes with all her might,
that she could join them in their flight.

One day she chanced to find the cool pond,
that called to her to look upon,
its surface that reflected the world around.
Rose-Lynn curled herself, next to it, on the ground.

Rose-Lynn heard her name sweetly spoken,
as though a lover, offering a token.
It bade of her to gently sip,
and whisper softly, her fondest wish.

No sooner had she sipped and whispered thus,
the ponds surface was rippled in a wind gust.
Upon the surface settling once again,
there was a new reflection of Rose-Lynn.

There from her shoulders were wings, snow white.
That would enable, Rose-Lynn her flight.
The voice told Rose-Lynn, the wings would be hers,
all she need do was to whisper one word.

Rose-Lynn stared at her reflection,
at the wings pure perfection.
She didn't need to take time to guess,
with a smile, Rose-Lynn, whispered "yes".

'Tween the shades of gloam and night
roam shadows cold and deep
Cavorting along the garden walls
'neath the eves they do seep

Pulling life from which they touch
removing the essecense of being
Growing bolder and darker still
when clouds course over moonbeams

Roses quell beneath their touch
becoming grey and smolder
The ivy blends into the trellis
stone statues look years older

Inching along the spreading branches
of the tree that taps at window panes
Melding with the leaves and bark
becoming your night time bane

Shadows tease the back door catch
then move on to your window sill
Melting in to your own bedroom
sneaking about as they will

Dark mouths stretch on the walls
and yawn across your quilted bed
Teeth reach out for your toes
while fingers want your head

Shadows tickle the closet doors
and weep beneath the chair
Puddling underneath your bed
You swear hands are touching your hair

Courage you gather as you quake
bit by bit you garner strength
Off you cast the covers fast
your eyes you rub and blink

For there the sun is streaming in
and chasing the night shadows out
You can almost hear their angry screams
of defeat as the sun spreads out

Your brain gives a sigh of relief
as it realizes you are now sun encased
But then new panic does set in
as you recall night can't be escaped

Deep within the canyon flows,
a sinuous fluid gem.
Speaking in whispers deep and cool,
to ancient rock walls it skims.

Rusting oak leaves set sail upon,
the back of this rippling jewel.
Past Heiroglyphs and forgotten caves,
to trade secrets in shallow pools.

Majestic pines lean over sandy banks,
as if to peer at their own reflection.
While the Willows weep at the beauty of,
a liquid diamond's song of pure perfection.

My husband has a special gift,
that, in a way, I have myself to blame.
He doesn't just selectively hear,
creative hearing is his claim to fame.

My simple request; "Can you come help me a sec?"
Will garner a  "Sure I'll have some coffee."
So, what do I do?  I get him a cup.
Wondering if he had really heard me.

I guess it's just a marriage thing,
that comes with the territory.
That a man will hear what he wants to hear.
But, for creativity, George gets all the glory.

You see, rather than risk "Whatever you say dear."
Not knowing what he is agreeing too.
He slips into creative hearing mode
and says what he wants me to do.

You come to me, stroke my cheek,
then wrap your strong arms about my waist.
With your bedroom eyes, you silently speak,
your kisses intoxicate with your taste.
But, you stop dead still, while in our haste.
I feel I have lost your full attention.
Then I see on what your focus is based,
your in love with your own reflection.

You hold a pose, relishing your attraction.
Then you turn to me with practiced ease.
I want to be your only distraction.
I would do anything for you, if you'd please,
hold me  aloft and far more dearer.
Yet, I just can not compete with a mirror.

She tells warm lies through lips cool as frost,
while her eyes cast frigid glares.
Her backhanded barbs, sharp as steel,
strike like ice crystals in your heart.
Infidelity coats upon her like a sheen of ice.
Beauty and slippery deceit, rolled into one.
And yet, you stand, as a man made of snow,
not truly seeing, not speaking out.
You slowly die, waiting for her to thaw.
A snowball in Hades stands a better chance,
than you, to win her heart.
For within her veins runs soiled slush
and her soul is an Arctic wind.

Hair, the color of ripened wheat,
with the sun shinning upon it.
Eyes, so clear a green,
shot with gold, as to be jewels.
A smile that reaches her eyes
and casts a glow from within.
Five tiny fingers grasp an aged hand,
with the delicacy of fine porcelain.
Two small feet, lively tapping,
in an excited tempo.
A Grandfather walks, stooped,
along beside her, with pride
evident in the smile he affords others.
His hat, a dapper angle,
upon his head of snowy fringe.
His one hand held by hers,
while in his other, a few wrinkled bills,
held aloft as a trophy.
I stop and watch their approach.
I watch as they pass beside me on the path.
As the two, young at heart,
head for the colorful, ice cream truck
parked at the curb.