Zephyr breeze

Windows hung with curtains, diaphanous white,

frame the scene, a calm and beautiful night.

The moon hangs low in the sky.

Grey clouds surround it, some low, some high.

Trees mark the horizon, sentinels  of my peace,

their branches waving gently in the sweet, zephyr breeze.

A nightingale sings, its song liquid gold.

A cat stalks across my garden, stealthily yet bold.

Day passes calmly into velvet night,

with footstep soft and silent, following the light.

Alas for the passing of summer, now on the wane,

it’s almost time to greet the autumn once again.

http://www.authonomy.com/books/40804/land-of-midnight-days/

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Joy… part II

Bouquet of happiness

Roses are for deep down joy, glowing velvet red and filling my mind with thoughts so bright I could almost burst with glee.

Daisies gift me a happiness so fresh and rare, I hardly dare think it real.

Violets bring the serenity such contentment craves.

Lilac’s heavy scent intoxicates me, lifts me above the doldrums and frees my soul.

Apple blossom fills me with the longing to dance with steps so light it feels as if I’m treading on air.

Long may such a bouquet thrive and prosper and spread its wonder far and wide.

http://www.authonomy.com/books/40804/land-of-midnight-days/

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The pen writes on XIX

It’s cold today, is that right?

It’s June and the sun should be full and bright.

Instead clouds gather full of rain,

is that a blessing or a pain?

Have the seasons gone crazy,

merging into a whole that’s hazy,

’til you can’t tell summer and winter apart.

When, if ever, will the summer start?

Sunshine in my blood.

Feel the beat of the summer heat.

Taste the wine of golden sunshine.

Days are long and yet so fleet,

when they turn again to snow and sleet.

Dance on grass so verdant green,

before it’s gone, ‘neath icy sheen.

Fill your lungs with warm fresh air.

While summer lasts, rid yourself of all care.

The Pen writes on XIII

Soft summer skies, fading to grey,

heralding the end of another spring day.

Words flow from my pen onto pages white,

competing with the coming of sweet twilight.

On pillows like clouds I lay my head,

’tis time to sleep, tis time for bed.