white calico clouds
white calico clouds to cool embrace
horizon, losing sun, replace
as stone still trees, their shadows wait
caresses from the breeze, soul mate
to watch, as trickles love lost beads
from neckline to the air, succeeds
when bleached to fair and topaz glow
so nature knows, then will bestow
as whistling songs and skies of days
turn tranquil, silent stars who’s rays
on mystic canvas draw a dream
for only minds of men, a theme
now rhapsody fulfilling senses, gold
as Paganini’s story told
occasions such as these, the beads
no longer lost, but woven seeds
implanted in the womb of time, for good
as sentience, thus expanded, should
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