Country clouds skimming the highland shore.
Treading the skinny sky,
Past the stars of delight, blanketing each
Once; for a while.
And sings a chorus, then
The man with the acoustic flair-
Of his dotted dreams,Of his mermaid mate.
Silently these rest on my paper white.
All I got to do is-
Write write write.
And the breeze takes them,
Past the shadows many, by the tree
Caressing the leaves, growing green by each touch.
They are for you. Truly.