Under silver-mottled cottage moss
Drenched with Autumn rain
Abandoned footprints hint of yesterdays
As they are slowly washed away.
See as you walk childhood paths
Stars reign over shadow and shade
Behind the place where lost vacations
Are played and pleasantly weighed.
And as you drift off over the waves
Of the Weaver’s wise and simple charms
Your eyelids billow to a flute of willow
Then dreaming softly upon your pillow.
From cloud to ocean is the course
Then scented airs and simple fares
Warm cinnamon buns and merry fun
And then your dreams are done.
Then when you rise to a promising sun
And dust a joyous sleep from your eyes
And strain to reach in directions all
To break your blankets happy hold
Shout out – ‘Yes, this is a day to be me!’