Iím lost in magicís crooked dreams,
timeís clock has broken hands
and sleep is slow like rocks in streams,
my feet in silent sands.

The clouds like falling feathers fly
in pictures lovers frame,
their softness claims the lullaby
when candles hold their flame.

I want the dream that leads me back
to you, in heavenís bliss,
without the shadowís gray and black,
with just a passing kiss.

Iím asking, hold my waiting hand,
you left and I forgave.
I hold the lilacís purple strand
and place it on your grave.

I beckon winds that soar above
with dreams that memory gives
Iíll ask for wings like mourningís dove
and fly where angels live.

By Marilyn Terwilleger(mterwilleger@bresnan.net)










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