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There is a ripple in the river of morning.
There sits Juniper, proud kestrel of twilight.
The silver Moth with singed wings, rests on the archway
Though the opal gate remains closed.
The gold mist swirls away to reveal a lone minstrel in the ruby sunset
Stretched out on a velvet covered dais.
Unicorn, please be my friend.
The growth of this weed is getting out of hand,
And yet, it is our only tie to the world as we know it...
Someday this spindly oak tree will be proud and strong,
Its silver petals whispering in the late March wind.
Do not lose hope!
Though there are no more cheerful breakfasts with orange tablecloths
And gray Moths
Desperately searching for the one remaining light,