The Calmative

The Calmative In forest, after the soft rain, a blanket of moss holds green Holds water to balance the day with shade providing sleep Woodland creatures know the soundless floor keeps secrets As they step through the wet unfolding silence Even the blue birds, flap a quiet wing while soaring by Tranquility has no color, has no smell, or taste It fills in the deepest well and falls just like a feather On the forest ground The calmative of nature forms A bubble around a troubled world A yawn picks up where sleep left off And when we wake we talk We only say kind words And only in a whisper, on a pillow of green moss Nothing gained, nothing lost Then slip back to oblivion To the calmative deep in sleep