If I could gather every star in the night sky,
it would not fill me with as much pleasure
or satisfaction as spending a few precious moments together
with him.

If I could catch a ride on an eagle
and fly through the heavenly clouds,
I would not feel higher than I do
then when I am all alone
with him.

If I could gather
every beautiful flower, everyday,
from every glorious field in nature,
  it would not please my heart
as much as a single rose
that he, alone, picks just for me.

If I could live here, on earth, infinitely,
and be forever young,
it would mean nothing to me,
unless he was there, standing beside me -
So, I pray that he will never want to walk
a single foot alone,
without me.

If he could get lost inside my soul,
inside my mind,
and deep down inside my heart,
deeper than he has ever been before,
he would realise
that he is the reason why
my heart wears smiles,

For him,
I would walk through blazing, raging fires,
for he, has always been, my only desire,
For him,
I would go above and beyond
a million miles.

By Lady R.F ©2017

Gazing up at the smorgasbord of stars
makes me all the more fonder
of the darkness,

Connecting light dots
above my head
on a magical canvas
which is never, ever, artless.

Vivid images
constantly taking form,
impeccable masterpieces floating
way up above me,

Heaven's art gallery
with such divine work on show;
hung--for all of us to see.

By Lady R.F ©2017

Phoenix-Bird.

In memory of John White the talented
sculptor of beauty from trees. R.I.P.
..........................................................­........

Rising from what appears petrified stone
stands the ****, elmwood sea bird,
head *****, wide-eyed and wings tightly rolled.
Sleek with much oiling, prepared
to a smoothness with masterful honing
to grace any home, careful
artistic handling sculpted life-like finely-*****
structure, feathery wings, rare
hooded head, feet webbed to perfection thrown
over elm boulder, toes pared
to sharp-claw completion, finely tooled cloning
of the real might soon be heard
shaking whittled wings to leave wooden throne,
and magically fly, stirring
dreams that a phoenix bird has risen and flown.

Oh Sleep,
you old weaver of unbeatable threads,
- - feeder of narcotic nectar - - - - - - baker
of heavy-grain sedative - - boatman who never
stops splashing oars - - - slumber-jack - - fakir
with magical wand - - you wide-eye lover bent
on seduction - - a fiend who woos then takes,
the so-called sooth-crooner - - - hill-a-bye friend
known as the sandman - - - an eye-salve agent,
maker of drowse-powder - - dope-peddler,
dream-chainer - you the drug-spirit - pale
ghost of ******-relaxation - - - - soft-breathed
jailer of wakeful night-ire - - - - the knave
who keeps dozers awake - - - Sleep the jester
whose counted sheep drives brave people crazy.

In the pit of the night though cold
is curtained and
fittingly covered is my yearning
for thee, vain
hope decides to unsleep and keep
me wide-eyed
til morning has for certain broken.
When laid low
by memory I find myself clinging
close to thy
pillow and think of that presence
its hollow holds.
At last a slow winning of pale over
grey as dawn's
rosy fingers bid me away, I go to
stay at my
window until tide is high, as this
time it may be
the one that is bringing thee safe
home again.