My Summer Goes To Dreams

My summer goes to dreams quite faraway,
With wings of love and daydreaming so much;
For all is young in night and newborn day,
Like opening bouquets that need its first touch.
The flowing of the tones like wings in air,
In bringing clouds together that're drifting;
Like things that wake up and are quite aware,
How light comes to grow in twilight's shifting.
And call out love to love without its wound,
That nightingales in shadows gave before;
How depress is the day without its battleground,
For nothing comes of flowers that we abhor.
Yes keep my dream better and always going,
For greatness is in soul and forests growing.

The Silvery Light of Your Restless Night Thoughts

The silvery light of your restless night thoughts,
Like wind in the clouds and sightings to see;
Reopened to the earth's old dry apricots,
The gray hands in evening capillary.
Sustain of the furrows in breeze growing,
New and light replenished raging stag tongue;
Wound of its life simple flower glowing,
All what is left when neglectful has flung.
Meandering water brownish yellow gray,
Moving through the marshy soulless soars;
Dimpsy goes to darkness restless in play,
To it's tongueless Philomel corridors.
Closing is in wound with winded up wings,
Inside flawing light where nobody sings.

When Each Love Comes Easily

When each love comes easily to your heart,
And gives the way to many summer days;
The feeling of love and how it must start,
You know - and how it touches each the ways.
All inside the world I must now embrace,
And fill with my new longings that are strong;
For the gentle winds will come to unlace,
All what is now and to each purpose belong.
The tender music so joyous to this earth,
With all the trials that have past before;
Each thoughtful hour that was of any worth,
And is gone to the unknown unnamed shore.
Oh pleasant ways that are so good to me,
I have heard your laughter so warm and free.

Sweet is The Rose

Sweet is the rose that comes within the spring,
With joy of life and all the youth so sweet;
That from the feelings in the heart will sing,
Of what grows forward in its aesthete.
True of love and for a time beautiful,
The joy that tempests and alteration finds;
Full of the colors that can't become dull,
For with its love each corpuscle rebinds.
Within the height of summer's bright night,
Where fields of green give longings new;
The dreams away will first start in its flight,
And fill the sky with deep and distant blue.
Oh yearnings on the edge of autumn doom,
Now sullen in the coldness of dark bloom.