Time rotates on a single silver point
Another revolution, when repeats our history
And one-fourth way through one rotation
As I sat one day in contemplation
Upon the boughs of a wide fruit tree

The sweet apples swelled over my head
The sap spilled over from the wise old oaks
It all jumbled and lined up in my brain
All in a tangle, yet clear as rain
And suddenly a soft wind spoke

Not spoke in the sense that you and I
Would think a wind through the boughs would use
But instead it gave me an unexplainable urge
A wild longing and an upward surge
And in that mere moment, it awoke my muse

To fly through the air on a trapeze of wind
To brush the stars and kick a hole in the sky
To create the winter, fall, and spring
That after this summer nature will bring
And paint on my canvas the seasons and sky

To wrestle the rain from an overhang of clouds
Meld with the drops then, and fall to the earth
To flow from a puddle to a rushing stream
And then find solace in a sunlight beam
Peeking out from the sky in a joyful rebirth

But you laugh now! and do you not have cause?
For how foolish a notion, to think that I
A mortal, a human, an earthly thing
With only the talents my nature would bring
Could wrestle clouds or kick a hole in the sky

But such deeds are not impossible, no!
But not to the physical world I turn
But instead to the berry juice that flows
And the stiff grass that in the wind blows
And to the rocks by the shores of the whistling burn

My muse dances through the trees in my head
As the grass dipped in berries dances over the stone
In words my dreams find their true heart's place
And their description is made to make my soul race
And my adventures are not for me alone

That is indeed the beauty and joy
Of learning to read and write and dream
For with me, other dreamers can feel the thrill
Of changing the fall to winter's cold chill
Or to flow as a puddle into a silver stream

Time rotates on a single silver point
My time is through, and my grass-quill is dry
But one-fourth way through another turn
Another dreamer sits by a sunlit burn
And dreams of wrestling clouds and kicking holes in the sky

15 June 2004