[Soaring Feather]

Dawn, arrived on the heels of night
her frock was that of black and white
a light cloak of chiffon broke the dawn
her hair the color of a fawn

her arrival sent blackest night
into the caverns of fright
where nightmares reign with
sheer delight, holding secrets
clothed in blackest caves
ne’er to see the light of day.

Dawn, the mistress of the day
held her head high soaking in
light’s ray, and with the dew fairies
did play, until the heat drove them away.

Soaring Feather

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning, everyone, time of dream of Dragonflies!



The Dragon-Fly


Life (priest and poet say) is but a dream;
I wish no happier one than to be laid
Beneath a cool syringa’s scented shade,
Or wavy willow, by the running stream,
Brimful of moral, where the dragon-fly,
Wanders as careless and content as I.

Thanks for this fancy, insect king,
Of purple crest and filmy wing,
Who with indifference givest up
The water-lily’s golden cup,
To come again and overlook
What I am writing in my book.
Believe me, most who read the line
Will read with hornier eyes than thine;
And yet their souls shall live for ever,
And thine drop dead into the river!
God pardon them, O insect king,
Who fancy so unjust a thing!


Walter Savage Landor