Sleep, smooth as a glassy tide,
Eternal problems resolved,
Simplified and glorified,
Politics, pure fantasy, unresolved;

But the tide, that swell of the unknown,
Waiting for that fateful daily pause,
As the myriad of airy sprays are blown
Over earth's face, with all her ancient flaws;

As air swirl like muslin, in sea's spray's,
Give me your hand, and let us rest,
In moon's caress and soft rays,
With the night's nocturn's unstressed;

Life’s cruel, with no vintage from other shores,
To fire my tired and jaundiced heart,
Limp hands and flickering eyes without shine,
A body strain’ng to grasps those floating air's parts;

Alas let’s not forget to hope, discreetly,
Our heart, of each of us stays intent and learns,
Dur'ng those calm nights, as moon's rays shine sweetly,
While air and nature fight, fierce and taciturn;

While she's prudent and wise, but's an enemy,
Never show'ng victory, only steel and distant toils,
Fickle in the winter's time, chilly, yet full of serenity,
That air, contrived, unseen, holding my destiny and joy?

Nightly air, brooding, as it floats in moons fading glare, without care.

Calmness at summer’s dawn,
of silence profound and senses ecstasy
when seeing that fleeing fawn,
and wonder’ng about life’ complexity;

I am afraid our life’s ‘re entwined,
as last summer seized our soul,
the silhouette of willow’ wet and lined,
there where the winds weep and roll;

As sunflowers emerge from their night’s mourning,
bursting of golden glow, flowers of fantasy,
on that golden carpet is the warning,
when tender balm’s falls from heaven’s canopy;

As the nightingale sings,
the future will prove sombre,
we don’t know what our slumbering hearts will bring,
at that exquisite hour, when skies are ombre;

Love is filled and clear,
let this silence be without sound,
but, let them hear,
the voice of despair, when no life is found.

In this life and time,
we think we’ve seen all.
And we wander that path sublime,
cherish only the good we recall.

Dur’ng those fleeting day,
there ’re events we don’t see.
We caress life, and its decay,
and our unknow fate, with glee.

Love oft is true in our mind,
as is the beat within our heart.
But, shadows are blind,
fill’d with hate, which tears our soul apart.

Emotion paint that picture,
as we hurtle toward the future, we’ve painted.
That will not last, and isn’t richer,
as the canvas we’ve already acquainted.

We’ve painted greens of joy,
fresh grass beyond compare.
But then comes the age, we’re the old boy,
like chrome, that begins to rust and wear.

The final touches we’ve created with care,
and realize the destination is the gallery above.
But do not let the mind wander too far,
it’s precious to a few, those patterns of love.

On the grass, where day expires
with the first salutes of spectators.
The first twilight has formed, as she retires,
while the doe slips by, as if a caretaker.

Gone are the deities of that morn’s dew,
And the fragrance of sprigs of heather.
Now stars appear as ripe fruit where they grew,
but we and they’ll pass, since all must finally pass.

Sparrow hawks cry from that sky filled with angels,
An evening sky that’s darkening and’s falling soon,

As it trembles with all these lamps alight,
The orchards and towns are greedy tonight,

As stars appear like images of swarming bees,
Feeding on this luminous honey that offends heaven’s vines,

Wan moonlight’s spearing that honey sweet,
Knowing autumn’s ill and adorned,

With dead whiteness and ripe fruits,
Stags are groaning beyond that dark tree line,

Filling groves with fallen fruit that no one’s gather,
Leaves are tumbling in the chilling night air,

Falling like tears of forgotten summers days,
Days of ****** poison sweet and chaste,

Now memories of those dreams past.

Far away from that pale moon and that soft green vale, I so adorn,
Sun’s in silence, looks on through the cloudless sky,
Past that early morn, but still in hiding, as if sh’s just born,
Still she‘s there, and not a stir of air that’s has gone awry;

Along the brooks margin-sand, water flows listless and calm,
Reeds standing tall in that dark sodden ground,
Their cold fingers rise in that clear sky with much aplomb,
But ther’s not much life on this summer's day, that’s now unbound;

The feather’d grass of vales green and forests with boughs we know,
Are hiding forest’s live, that’s like crumbled donjons lie still,
Trees standing in abandoned rows awaiting the lighting show,
Freebooter sparrows come on daring wings and voices shrill;

Sun’s subtly scaling that azure sky, it’s elemental power for us to see,
Her once slumbering eyes now bright as morning dawns,
For foes this beauty has seized day’s splendor with glee,
As she fights with sword and hand ‘gainst night’s dark pawns;

Now that morning’s mist is torn asunder by light’s streak
And castl’s towers are gleaming in her rays
We see the glory and sun’s joy we daily seek
While we seek those larks song’s, pure and glittering on the sunny day

“Those storms,
Alive with leafs,
As musical instruments,
Stealthy invading,
My mind wails;

Harsh and cruel,
Wind driven and unkind
Grief, choking and weep’ng.
For that sun th't once was,
Of days now so long gone;

Will that cradling wind,
Waving those boughs afar,
With indifference ‘n mind,
And sit on its throne,
Enfolding long dead leafs;

He has taken them away,
His indigo colour fill’d sky,
That once held a sun-gild’d air.
Now just a dead grace,
And horizons fill’d dreamy hues;

Shatter’d songs of winter’s tale,
With indifference, they sing,
Of summer’s gracel’ss dead,
And her eternal soul,
Filled with colour, now gone.”

White woman with numberless dreams,
The tales woven with soft silken thread

I bring you careful and with rever’nt hands,
The books of my countless strange loving plans,

White woman passion that was there not before,
Tide wears its shall’w bed in that sandy shore,

With a heart more old than the horn sound’d past,
And those dreams brimmed with pale fire so vast:

White woman of sweet dreams and countless time,
I bring you my heart and passionate rhyme.