Green Light, Then It Races On Poem by James McLain

The leaves in the fall do not fall-falling there.
Memory's people loose can't be found.
To many have gone here even fewer will stay.
Trees with deep roots won't grow in the dark.
Though one bush keeps it's shape in the light.
How ever thick are the clouds that we face,
the round moon can't be seen being blind.
Am I a mind with out sound or shape?
When deep in sleep how best to remember
all that I've seen written down.
I can not shape what I feel-feeling I touch
what I've found,
if when awake when in life you slept on.
What did you leave to be found?
What is a dream-dreaming on-on a dream
that white river is long-long if it is.
In only one life to how do we know it is long.
The bright light that is green just moves on.