Was very late this winter night,
Perhaps ‘twas early morn.
And I, the drama queen again,
Once more was sorrow bourne.
Rare sleep o’ertook me slowly there
Through eyes that would not close.
But fin’ly mind and body yield.
Asleep, I clasp a rose.
And in the muddled haze of sleep
A vision comes - a dream.
There on a gently rippled lake
I see the moonlight gleam.
Surreal it is, in black and white
And gentle shades of gray.
A giant maple tree is there,
Beneath its boughs I lay.
The circle crafted from small stones
Surrounds my shaded spot.
The pathway sub’tly beckons me.
To follow it - or not?
It leads to nowhere but the lake
That holds my tiny isle.
No boat to take me to the shore
So I’ll just rest awhile.
O moon that hovers o’er the land,
So faithful through the years,
Your mystic light is gently warm
And dries my sleeping tears.
As I now sleep, yet seem awake,
And peace arrests my soul,
The surcease of all pain and stress,
My waking life’s one goal.
So here beneath the nighttime sky,
My consolation's cast.
For when I waken in the morn,
The future hides the past.
E'en though I lay down late last night
'midst dreary thoughts and gloom,
The tiny rosebud that I hold,
Awakens in full bloom.
Adding your comment:
Dee
You're quite good at reading a person. And that painting is a dream of some of the things that I love most: Peace, the moon, the path that I sometimes want to take to take me away from what I'm in, and nature. 
