Dream Of Stillness

The blessings of a silver crescent;

Rows of jade undulations, glimmering and pleasant;

A lake of the turquoise diamonds;

The night specks smile, they’re too fond.

Bunches of petals overhang; pink, indigo, mauve;

Blades of newly-birthed grass flourish beneath their love;

Florets of vermillion near boulders tall;

In this eve of inky black, no owls hoot and call.

The bridge over the waters is brown;

No vessels are moored; they’ve drifted to town;

They cast a pool of gold, a soft glow;

Lamps lining the embankment, built low.

This summer dream is so stagnant;

Yet the fervour of the dying day is so tangible, so fragrant;

Is it because none shall wake;

To watch the melting of many a wintry flake?

Why does this fantasy not move?

Why is it in such a groove?

Will the season of warmth never return?

I shan’t ever escape the rime, never wildly burn.