Carpets of starlight
Roll over our lands,
Gardens we tilled
With our own hands.

A dark, silken ocean
Flutters beyond;
Her song is sweet,
Her reach is long.

Fireflies twinkling
Pay us no mind.
Their faint lights
Leave us behind.

Summer has ended,
Autumn is come.
The flowers know
Their work is done.

“May I have this dance?”
Said the ancient oak
To the pine-tree grand,
She who never spoke.

“Won’t you move with me?
For our roots are strong,
And we both have seen
Moments far too long.”

Then he held his breath,
Hoping she’d agree.
O! the wait was death
To this wizened tree!

Pine-tree trembled, shy;
Oak resolved to wait.
Let the years go by,
For their love was fate.

Better watch your step,
Stargazing again!
Pay attention to the sign.
Don’t focus so much on rhyme.
You’ll wake up—but when?

Stuck in your own head,
You’ll soon fall behind.
There’s a trap you can’t escape
When your thoughts are not in shape.
Seek, but you won’t find.

Soon the Moon will turn.
Stars, they come and go.
Better look down at your map;
It’s forgotten on your lap.
Perhaps then you’ll know.

With the proper Madness,
I will gather all the stars
In a wicker basket, for
The Universe is ours.

Let me live in Wonder of
The things they cannot see:
I have tried the safer path.
It had no room for me.

Why are you not dreaming?
Don’t you feel a spark inside?
Who has said you’re living life,
If Madness you must hide?

Autumn’s chill caressed the Wood,
And coaxed her into Sleep.

Leaves then fluttered from the Boughs
Into a towering heap.

Man admires the Wild-flower,
Gem-like on the ground;

But what of the slumbering Tree
That cannot make a sound?

Are not all things in this Wood
Reflecting how, in Life,

Living things can’t set their roots
Without enduring strife?

Can’t Life be admired
Without silken cloaks of red?

Don’t trees possess beauty
In their bones once Leaves are shed?

Nature peeled back Summer’s quilt
Of flower-beds and all things green.
Soon the plants began to wilt;
Windows took a frosty sheen.

In place of grass, the lawn turned pale
Beneath a sheet of fresh, white snow.
The pond became a crystal frail;
Frigid water lurked below.

Picture now that Mother fair,
Deciding that our land should sleep.
She tossed her Snow into the air,
Shrouding hills in blankets deep.

There is a sacred hollow
Where the fireflies in play,
Can inspire a shattered heart
With hope for a new day.

Wind creeps between the branches
Of the trees stronger than time.
After rain, the ground sends up
A scent rich and sublime.

We venture there in daydreams
To escape the winter gray.
In the shelter of the trees
We all would like to stay.

Find me in the dead of night,
Curled up in my bed but Wading
Through the murky dregs of Sleep,
Gathered in a pool so deep.

Consciousness is breached.
The thing intangible that holds me,
And in waking hours consoles me,
Just out of my reach.

One bright afternoon, you see
Some wild birds in play.
If you remain silent,
You can make out what they say.

Sit here in the sunlight,
One bird says to her friend.
Because in a few short weeks,
This fair weather will end.

Soon comes hibernation,
The ritual of sleep.
As for you and me, there is
The southward trip we keep.

Winter frost will slither in
And this land will be dead.
So sit here and enjoy the sun
While leaves are overhead.

I feel that we’ve found a place
Where shadows are of light.
It’s the first time
I have not been frightened of the night.

Crickets on their leaves are singing
To the moon above.
Fireflies blink in and out
And watch the stars with love.

Weeping willow is a maiden
Crowned with silver hair.
She begins to sway in rhythm
To the chilly air.

I will stretch out on the grass
And smile myself to sleep.
We have found Elysian Fields
Where shadows cannot creep.

Crickets have a preference for
The bush outside my door.
They’ve gathered there to make a song
I’ve never heard before.

If the stars had voices,
I would think they’d sound the same—
All abuzz with energy,
A summer night untame.

Wait! here come the fireflies.
And look at how they dance!
Choreographed perfectly,
A fairytale romance.

Now the breeze is picking up,
As if to harmonize.
It purifies the tune and sends it,
Perfect, to the skies.

If you go to sleep tonight,
You’ll miss the cricket-chants.
They only come this time of year.
Go outside and dance.