Away.

I awake this morning,
Far into spring,
To see that in
The softest light of day,
You have danced
Without worry
Upon the creeping mosses of my garden.
Danced,
As some Good Folk do,
Leaving the gentle wild in your wake.
The dandelions about my feet
Hold tenderly this golden hour.
Each of them a wonder
All its own.
How my home
Does now glitter with it.
I stare into their brilliance
And see upon the rays
A gentle hope.
Without worry.
They whisper in sunlight
And it is dazzling.
They sing to me stories
Of so fantastic a place,
That I,
Enraptured,
Can do naught but willingly go.
– Essie Parker Walsh