Last Clear Dawn Poem by James McLain

Chilly the air and foggy my breath,
looking down,
as I walk up the path of this steep hill
winding around, back and forth,
like some one sought out in a dream.

Spring parts green on either side.
Narrow the path, unlike most minds.
Each stepping stone laid high and dry
like the sandals well worn on my feet.

Resting often, more often than not and I
now realize,
why the gold fish seem much brighter today,
than ever they did before.

Resting in the waist tall grass,
the wind once again it feathers my face
I know it is sleep, for you I wait.
Honey suckles and deep butter cups.
Scattering the butter flies through the clouds.