Traces
When a warm, soft breeze
filters through the spruce--
sighing, for it knows it cannot linger--
I feel your gentle fingers on my shoulder.
When dusky, slanting light
spills dappled shadows on the floor--
turning oak to gold--
I see you dancing, barefoot, like a sprite.
And when the sickle moon
sweeps across the dawning sky--
harvesting the stars--
I search among the dewdrops for traces of you.
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Regis
Best Wishes,
Christine
Here is your's
as run through the cut-up engine:
======================
of filters spills feel slanting
knows my the to it dancing,
stars-
feel sprite.
see slanting
soft you.
on dewdrops sickle of like the Turning stars-
I And And warm feel warm the among dusky
for on Careless wind a
a soft across when I light for the spruce
Perfection it gentle light
the light when dawning the gentle
the you the Turning on sickle dancing,
gold-
you the the see for
The And
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