My legs itch
The wind blows
It is sweet
With the smell of palm tree
And grass.

A bird sings in a nearby tree
But I know its song
Is not for me;

I will use these words
To paint a pleasant picture,
One with golden rays of sunlight
Cast upon rippling water,
In the most tranquil yard.

The sun fades,
The shade grows,
How I wish the fist would stay,
And the second would go;

Pulled back by the wind,
Stroked     cut
Here I am---
At peace