In the whiles of the morning, the moon hung upon a limb,

The petalled hue lies soft beneath the dew and recedes into the dim.

Softly echoed calling beckons our dreams to strenthen and grow,

To float within the burgundy mist, where the shadows glow.

Piles of caressing linen folds, comfort the submissive mind,

Forming the illusions wrought that are otherwise impossible to find.

Restful, gentle images parading in their sequence as they pass by,

Looked upon with awe and wonder through the mind’s eye.

Image via Wikipedia

A gentle journey taken to escape the vigils of the day.

Savored with enjoyment, as each may pass our way.

A fondled and prized moment when strife is left to want,

While contentment is the rapture found in freedom’s hunt.

Shapes to soothe the spirit from the day to day wrestled plight,

A gift of giving to be treasured is the traveling flight.

Though in the waning moments the encounter must to quickly leave,

But can be found again in the cloth the the whiles of the morning weave.