Silent tiptoes ushering
An angel chorus from on high,
A single note,
A breathless sigh
Leaves a feathered cloud of
dreams
Soft upon my waiting pillow.
Never seems to be too much,
Ever welcome to the touch,
Always cotton-candy sweet to
taste,
If dreams were made of such.
Rapid eyes survey the scene,
Anxious to view everything
and more
If more presents itself
Beneath the glow of starlight
beams.
Anything and everything is
possible it seems.
Flights of fancy are forever,
Living on in dreams.
No comments:
Post a Comment