Taming the Nightmare
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April Brooks was four years old, prattling a blue streak, like comets;
Or backwards walking time, seizing swiftly, days of golden promise.
April lived with parents and older sister, in the sunshine of a valley;
And petals wore dew pearls and fragrance, all along the green alley.
April and sister, Dawn, loved horses, though still too young to ride;
But, they adored fairy-tales about them, like lilac, at rose's bedside.
Fuchsia was the color of fall skies, and the fun year was fading away,
When friends of the family called. Jet night fell, amidst a leafy display.
Trees were festooned with flowers, and fiddlers fancied live concerts;
As family arrived in fawning, fresh gusts, like tomorrow, e'er onward.
April lived in the house of sateen dreams, of peppy horses, prancing;
And the toy horses were often in motion, like bygone days, glancing.
Pie in the sky sun turned plum and cherry, above the path of peonies,
That led to their large backyard. It was so park-like, pretty and sunny!
Narcissistic sun of all necessity, rose orange, and neighbors came by;
For each natural joy has its own niche in time, like the rainbow nearby.
'Cercis whitewater' plants cascaded, at times pinkly, and often cream;
As 'crocosmia lucifer' got full of the devil, in the heat of noon, supreme.
Exotic ones were espying moon, thru the gaze of 'yellow tiger eye viola,'
When ball shaped, 'star orchids' lit up the ground, adored from cupolas.
April and Dawn shared a room, like they'd so soon be sharing secrets.
One night, April had a nightmare, that also awoke Dawn, to her regret!
Mother appeared, having heard the uproar, like a mulberry rose storm;
Then Mother sang a beautiful lullaby, her voice like a blanket, so warm.
No one could soothe like Mother! No wonder she is queen of our hearts
In a world of trouble, where love is alive, Mother lights love's first spark!
'Hush-a-bye, don't you cry
Go to sleep, my little baby
When you wake, you shall have
All the pretty little horses
Dapples and grays, pintos and bays
All the pretty little horses!
Way down yonder
In the meadow
Poor little baby, crying Mama
Birds and the butterflies
Flutter round his eyes
Poor little baby crying Mamma.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry
Go to sleep, my little baby
When you wake, you shall have
All the pretty little horses
Dapples and grays, pintos and bays
All the pretty little horses!'
Copyright © Evelyn Judy Buehler | Year Posted 2025
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