When I Lay Down

A tapestry of clouds Gathered like blue-gray smoke That bellowed from a cigar Made in Havana A sea of mountains Rise up like Mythological Gods and Jagged edges made of Dark-brown German chocolate A gust of peppermint air Shakes loose the weak branches of A wild sycamore tree Then a jubilant display of radiant Light burst through bashful clouds Awakening a field of orange-gold poppies When I lay down, Both feet are planted firmly on the ground