as the mums (do)

in tedious pantomime

slow breathing in dull stupor

As grey Chrysanthemums (do)

in delicate repose

in diocesian convocation

seeking forgiveness

And Salvation

as the mums (do)

.

-wf

I have fallen asleep under my threadbare blanket
My dream begins in an austere land

Faraway, brass horns blow with the many winds
as the gold sun races by

And in the distance, slowly approaching,
the timpani drums beat louder with every breath

The clouds roll and roil in conflicting emotion

I find my feet have left the ground
I fly into the solace of being unremembered.

.

.

w.feller