My outer life is taking on
the quality of a dream:
I live in a tree-walled garden
filled with bird song,
a black and white rabbit
zipadees around and around;
a rose, hemmed in by a mock orange
and a Japanese honeysuckle,
spindles itself higher and higher
until it ventures
one vibrant orange flower.
If death is akin to sleep,
please can I keep on dreaming.
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Reading this a lovely start to my day. Vivx
ReplyDeleteA beautifully surreal and poignant poem.
ReplyDeleteDitto Viv and thank you Diana.
I will keep it with me as I go about my day.
Recent events in Christchurch have left me without words. I hope the dream returns again to replace the nightmare. But it is a truly uplifting poem. Dreams are such a gift, as are metaphors and symbols, especially of joy and peace.
ReplyDeleteWhich I wish you, Diana, with all my heart