Eden
Eden
Come away to Eden
to the mountains far beyond
where streams bear the only traffic
and love the only bond.
On mountain peeks and meadows,
though December bars the way,
we, who are September,
will dream the dreams of may.
Moody, melancholy Mondays
let us leave behind
along with clocks and schedules
that clog the day with time.
The emerald forest beckons,
the ponds , the lakes, the streams,
the giddiness of freedom,
the gauzy gaiety of dreams.
Look now to the sunset
before it turns to umber
unnamed days await us
in time that has no number.
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