Dreams The Flavors Of Dreams Poem by James McLain

Peaking high she laughs and starts to turn.
Producing wind and sunshine I can smell.
Bell field horse in tow.
Low tangled white the cottage off along the hedge it runs.
Sun is in his face and leans against the wall she does.
Being blind I am to long he moving is.
The silent hooves the horse stirs up green grass.
Light cinnamon my song is heard, the silence is so long.
Noon point makes it hard to leave his mark,
the swelling such it is and not done soon.
Deep purple is the color of the sky, will drive you mad.
It is you, it's you,
weighted each load hard pressed are flavored dreams.