I close my eyes. I walk a river bed, <br />Around my calves, each wave gleams like a fin <br />I am a child again, unwooed, unwed <br /> <br />There's nothing in the trees around to dread <br />My cousins guddle trout, tanned, farming kin <br />No need to work yet for our daily bread <br /> <br />This is the path in dreams I often tread <br />Around, the thrushes raise their merry din <br />The Future's an unprinted book, unread <br /> <br />I think I am a mountain goat, cross- bred <br />With the bright salmon leaping down the linn <br />I slide down mossy stones, my water-sled <br /> <br />I store that magic place inside my head. <br />That time when sunshine was my second skin <br />My body baking on the heath, outspread <br /> <br />Now, I'm a crone, one of the nearly-dead <br />But like a shepherd, I can call them in <br />Those times, who to the fields of Past have fled <br />And lead them back, on memory's golden thread<br /><br />sheena blackhall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dream-time-7/
