The Writers Voice
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of geometric shafts of golden light
Illuminated the unsullied quality of morning.
In a clearing a sleeping dove awoke, took flight.
Mushrooms and toadstools tilted to the dawning.
A young boy, bedecked in green with rosy face,
Sparkling eyes, sprawled on the branch of a tree,
Jutting over a stream, that flowed with crystal
Flawlessness embraced, kissed with divine
From the branch of a tree that overhung a stream,
A bevy of butterflies burst forth, sharing shafts of
Scattered fragrance, a startled deer, and a pipers
The warmth of approaching day, tiptoed so slight.
The pan piper boy saw all, whilst blowing notes
Gazing at tiny fairies, gleefully dancing in the
At random, each fairy waved to the boy, joyful and
And the boy winked back and smiled, while he
Bluebells bowed to the fairies, spilling their
A wise frog, croaked appreciation, from his warming
Then, through a door of dandelion leaves, perfectly
Stepped Fairy Queen, sight supreme, in sinuous,
Pan pipe notes crescendoed, fairies curtsied, a
She waved her wand and spelled peace to the
The boy leaped down, played music, danced,
The poet hid in the shadows, silent witness,
writing his verse.
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