Yawning long across the green,
the sun-shot ghosts of somber trees.
The birds fall silent to their nests
as the day-star falters west.
Now at last the world can dream
and rest her head on stalwart green.
The borders and edges just moments ago,
so sharp and harsh in the crimson glow
are softening and melting and starting to blend
as the images flock to reality’s end.
Here at last I’ve come to dream
and rest my head on stalwart green.