I hope your tea was warm, and smooth and sweet, and brought a seep that filled your soul with far off places
endless frolics, loving races;
The dare of breath and tease- for but one night, swept up with painless ease.
Off to places where comfort tis not a blanket’s cover or pounded pillow, but shade that only comes from arching willow;
Whoosh, can that be the roar of the morn tide
Or a soaring eagle off to announce its seamless ride.
To climb the back of sunlit current, to challenge the dusty streets and wailing tears- to walk away and shed our fears.
The smile of new places . . .
Of distant faces.