The sky of yellow
palely pastel'd
the hills blue grey
their shapes so stark
against the coloured heavens
the tree
with delicate hanging fronds
breaks through the two
a black against the forests monotone
as if one note was blown
that never ends
dreams take form in the subconscious mind
those elements predict the atmosphere
set the stage
what shall I dream tonight
armed with this sight
I'll probably never know
they dissipate in morning light
Margaret Ann Waddicor 3rd May 2016
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 10:30 AM UTC
The sky of yellow
palely pastel'd
the hills blue grey
their shapes so stark
against the coloured heavens
the tree
with delicate hanging fronds
breaks through the two
a black against the forests monotone
as if one note was blown
that never ends
dreams take form in the subconscious mind
those elements predict the atmosphere
set the stage
what shall I dream tonight
armed with this sight
I'll probably never know
they dissipate in morning light
Margaret Ann Waddicor 3rd May 2016
I write many poems about the view at night, just before going to sleep, looking out of the big windows at the night slowly changing its character and with it I too slowly become more sleepy, and finally put down my phone, in which I write, and curl up to sleep. Dreams are most often elusive. :) Goodnight, whenever it is for you.
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