One that is filled with the rolling fields of forgotten time

A place where flowers a many dot a golden plain

A magical land, that is laced with love, and free of earthly pain.

Yet dare I dream this dream, upon heavens mystical rhyme,

A dream, which lifts the wayward sprits of yesteryears,

for they are the ones that have been tamed by never ending time.

So softly, I tread in the still of the balmy Southern night,

And I caress the darkness, which gives my dreams their sight.

Gently, oh ever so gently I go,

slipping down this wistful slope.

Slipping on, slipping ever so slow…..

Until the night ride reaches its crescendo. 

Therefore, without pause, I find my dare lying full upon my face

I smile but just a little as I vanish from this earthly realm without a trace.

There I see multitudes of believers as they wander across my golden plain,

with their hands in the air, chasing pixies in the pouring amber rain.

I shake and I shudder at this most surreal and unusual sight,

And I wonder, that if in my dare, that I caught your, and not my dream in flight.

For I recall not, this most strange and peculiar place,

where wandering believers give pixies a never ending chase.

So wake me now if it is I, that upon your dream I did intrude,

For all I did was to dare a dream that to my day, I could conclude.

So forgive me now, and let not my presence steal your precious time.

For all I did, was to dare a dream of mine.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004