In the dawn, when the sky blooms rosy pink,

And ignites with gold,

I would dance in wild dales,

And cavort through cloud-caked skies.

My feet would lick up fairy tears,

Suspended on trunks of grass,

And harmonize with the fawning breeze,

And the gossiping birds,

And the chattering insects.

In the morning, when the earth eases into lush green,

And reclines beneath sapphire,

I would taste wild honey dew,

And speak with slate-colored stones.

My hands would splash up elfin wisdom,

Translated by brooks of water,

And romp around rolling pastures,

And the sylvan grasslands,

And the obscure woods.

In the noon, when the air stagnates a balmy yellow,

And congeals to amber,

I would rest in clandestine shade,

And hum to roots and shrubs.

My thoughts would drown out nature’s whispers,

Squelched by molasses in the air,

And dream about the mystical midnight,

And the tender coolness,

And the glittering stars.

In the evening, when the heavens bleed muted scarlet,

And melts to ashen grey,

I would wander along borderlands,

And search my little plot.

My eyes would hunt for fleeting friends,

Relegated by the sun’s pilgrimage,

And dream about the distant morning,

And the ephemeral warmth,

And the blinking orb.

At night, when the world fades to burnt violet,

And veils a richer black,

I would dance through shadowy dreams,

And past obscure figures.

My feet would twirl between celestial lanterns,

Suspended by a collective silence,

And pass lonely hours,

In the emptiness,

In the darkness.