Wilst I think,
And sit and dream within the forest,
soft footfall comes up behind me,
as I think.
A soft cool hand touches my shoulder
and whispers like the wind enter my ear.
Her perfume preceeds her words,
her intentions reflected ,
in the calming mist.
Like dust, sleep overcomes me,
as soft secrets fill my thoughts,
the hand releases its elfin grip,
And I drift into sleep...
Baker Street Irregular * Ft Walton Beach FL (1:366/222)
Next: LYRA (Hugh Read)