Mist

By David Roth

© 9^th August, 2011

I dreamed of gently sloping hills

with laurel buds

and huckleberry fruit

a laughing brook

and newborn trees

and clouds that hide the hilltops.

where water weeps through speckled stone

and gathers in a pool

where bullfrogs croak

and robins sing

and forest creatures stop to drink.

A mist that strains the morning sun

in silver luminescence

while dew drops dance

from heather lips

of purple flavored kisses.

And from the creaking porch side swing

that overlooks my mountain home

of silken moss, and bramble spikes,

I dream the lonely broken dreams

that drift as smoke in moonlight

and carry me to evergreen

and sloping hills

fast swallowed in the mist.