New night begun.
A walk of shadows,
crossing a mind of memory,
beneath a daytime sun,
under a full moonlit sky.
You are my heart.
You are my soul.
Without you, I die,
a tumbleweed, an endless roll.
The hills they call,
for the footsteps of the land,
to once again, once again,
walk them in unison.
This lonely verse, an extension,
from what whispers, speaks inside.
The words, a piece by invention,
of what the heart cannot hide.
Like dancers swaying with the breeze,
such is the life of standing trees.
Its woodlands patchwork countryside,
Everything is growing high now,
with hints of Autumn everywhere.
By wooden, weathered picnic table,
I touch the light,
knowing it is of all being.
I touch shadow,
knowing it is only seen
To Miss, the words of Love,
to Miss the Hope of the next Day.
That face, smile, lips and eyes,
the Feeling of Touch and its Way.