Our loves, desires, thoughts of who we could be,
Thoughts of the muddy earth all turning red;
Dreams of a silver moon as full as spring,
All this shining path is lost by grasping.
Sounds of the trees at night in the forest,
The whisper of the pines when no wind stirs;
Bird songs before the dawn in this magic hour,
A voice comes in the dark and calls you home.
Youth is born and bright and celebrates you
With sunlight dancing on the ocean, too,
Splendour in the grass, the completion hour,
Kneel with open arms in the morning dew.
Once it was that life moved beneath my hand
And I could breath the starshine as evening came,
The twilight air is everything I need;
Amidst this cosmic dance I call your name.
(C)2016 by William Milne
3:00 A.M. September in North Bay