I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow
My dreams sigh wisps of dreams I do not know
A butterfly, a field where willows weep
A throng of clouds off which white waters flow.

Small trees atop which hummingbirds might peep,
Glassy ponds where frogs prepare to leap.
Twin mountains, and a crystal lake between
With icy whispers purring from the deep.

And there! I see a silver peacock preen
And flash its feathers blue white glittering green—
Yet ‘tis always those times that I hear
A ghostly fowl cooing ‘Where've you been?’

In starlight then begins to flash the years
Now large, now small, now far, now again near;
Ancient thoughts flap dusty wings, take flight,
Wobble in the breeze and do not tear.

For though a candle’s flame loves burning bright
A shadow’s thought may also beget light.
The moon, as stars, emits its own soft glow—
I have been one acquainted with the night.