I need to slip away in the light of
my creation, a ceremonious breeze
high in the heavens of contentment
softly whispering by, gathering flowers
wild, from a field of daisies, buttercups
goldenrod, Indian paintbrushes.

Wondrously! I laid upon the sweet grasses
aroma hypnotizing my attention, astonished
from the beauty that surrounds me, enchanted
with whippoorwills echoing through the
treetops of mountain pine, while clouds
darkened slowly, for the dance to begin, with
dots swiftly appearing, sparkling across the
velvet heavens.

The silver disk of light brightens the lake
dressed in a sheet of clear glass with tree
frogs singing their immortal mating songs
serene and blissfully kissing the silence
good-night, sweet dreams, with God watching
mother, moisturizing the coolness of delight
and promise of another day.

Dreaming in motion never grows old
it only calms the savage beast that lives
when clouds darken.

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