Upon the moonlit grass
My toes do tread
Turf and earth imprinting
On a mossy bed

A tired floret stoops 
A sleepy head
Resting…sequestered…
Nothing to be said

A chill blows from the east
Then ceases… to ground
 Still…serenity
 Folds in…to surround

Is this dreaming … revealing?
Looking to the skies
Into night’s darkness
With a canopy of eyes

Copyright © 2015 Janice Turner Salmon