Oaken Whispers
Sunlight dripped from dawn branches of Oaken age,
running through rivulets of his ancient gnarled skin,
acorn leaf finger tips grip the slipping drops of dew,
casting rainbow prisms with grand wind blown gestures,
to land upon my dozing brow awakening me to dreams,
in a land where reality’s perception is the sum of your happiness;
and simple goodness frees life’s wheel.
©David Nickle Read 2016
All Rights Reserved By The Author
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