Beneath your soil lies the remains of dreams. Crystalline bodies sail bravely across your skies. You are an eternal contradiction of stormy nights and saffron days.
A handmade fence
runs along your dappled fields,
golden meadows and verdant grasses,
kaleidoscopes of spanning forest.
Bejeweled gardens hang behind walls
festoons of Ivy and stained glass monarchs,
the sparkling wings of honey bees.
A doe laps from a crystal spring,
that spills across rustic symmetry
to rivers and springs and a rushing sea
whose sparkling foam infused with life
breaks and rises to your warm embrace.
The man on the shore sits silently,
lost to the wonder of your poetry.