Dream, take me to my father’s sanctuary,
where the hay field stretches each morning
and yawns its soft, foggy breath
down the hill
and across the pond.
Where the reeds soak their feet
in limpid pools
that smile back at us,
reflecting the light
we now see in each other.
Where the clouds climb
down from the sky
and dance through barren treetops,
waltzing with the apple-pie winter air.
Where the bales in the barn
and the tools in the shed
echo my father’s love.
Where we share each other’s company,
a moment’s communion
that lasts forever.