The Dreamers Bed
The Sky’s in blistered phases
From a sunset’s dying light
As the ocean mocks the shadows of
Some passing gulls in flight.
The wind drifts deep, as melting lace,
While it weaves a soothing web,
Here and there, through strands of time,
To warm the dreamer’s bed.
That bed of clover pillows waits
Beneath a wind-blown tree
As sounds of darkness fills the night
For eyes that close to see.
Yes, the fragrance of a thought has grown
To visions, time long past,
When childhood dreams were simple scenes
And never meant to last.
Now the sounds of waves
Cannot enter conscious thought
For the mind drifts away
To that curious place of naught.
To that place where visions live,
Where the books of dreams are read,
Where the wind, sky, and ocean blend
To warm the dreamer’s bed.
JE Falcon— 1981
