In the ocean of the mind,
Must lie a sea of fantasy,
Imaginations of every kind,
Of love and pain and ecstasy.

When lightning strikes and thunder rolls,  
Across the vast and moody sky,  
We can reason with carefree minds,  
It’s Nature’s way to shout and cry!

These quiet guardians in the night,
Gently guide the lost and hopeless,
They renovate the hidden strength,
And disperse the silent sadness.

I’d love to fly up to the sky,  
Soaring through all the clouds on high,  
Scrambling the startled water drops,
And soothing snowflakes passing by.    

I’d love to perch on mountain tops,  
And jump and skip and maybe hop,  
From one to two to three or four,
Then flying back again for more.  

I’d love to sit on ocean bed,    
Patting a starfish on its head,  
Playing with pretty mermaids there,  
With their bodies so sweetly bare.  

Why, this would be a witching way,  
To help me through a dreadful day,  
But of course this can never be,  
It’s just another fantasy.

A poem is never perfect,
Just like everything,
The poet has to check,
Check and counter- check,
It needs constant editing.

At four-thirty this afternoon,
In the sky I saw a bright full moon,
There were no stars around,
no clouds,
no sun -
Day moon was the only one.

I’m sure she came out this early,
To see what the world was really like,
she couldn’t see so well,
with stars
at night -
Despite shining all her light.