At the weekend she’ll go back again to walk barefoot on ferns
and then through flickering green mosaics where sunlight never burns
she’ll wander wisp tossed shadowed lanes of timeless peace rimmed hours
where emerald rain drops sprinkle from sky cameo blue showers,
and her memories touch her colourless, invisible her dreams
a potpourri of what could be, at least that’s how it seems,
bare branches from a shadowed stream, her mystic sundial time
will write again on patchwork waters with the elegance of rhyme.


And then she’ll rest against an oak tree in a timeless scented glade
to dream of dreams that dream of her before her visions fade,
within her silver quietness she’ll feel the whispered songs
that speak to her of once again, of where her soul belongs,
in her heaven’s nest of silence, every poem she knows is bared
and in the naturalness of summer sun, her very soul is shared,
Then she gathers in her hopes once more, and sets sail on a dream
That carries her away again, as a wondrous dream can seem.


Her dream took her right back once more, to her own tinted glade
Where her shadow blends with sunshine, and her far off memories fade,
And a fawn crept up to lick her hand, so shy yet so aware
Of the soul that slept within its glade, gentleness that it could share,
Then her eyes opened to the whispers ofvery precious songs
That made her feel a part of nature, where a precious soul belongs,
Then the smile that lit her countenance chased shadows all away
As she stretched and rose up to the morning of another special day…