Rise

And the westerly wind, Will blow a sea of waving grass And the sea's fine mist Will breathe drops like dew And the sinking suns Will cloak the sky's horizon And the moons of Autumn Will beckon the golden fertililty of the harvest And the violet tinged edge of night Will cry for the white bursting of the stars And the carved thrust of the mountain range Will challenge the forever yielding blue And the hovering tunes of the dawn's awakening Will mimic the lullaby of my dreams