I draw a line towards the sun
But, somehow, come up short,
As if I’m in the skin of one
Who spurns the last resort;

Or else I’m simply too afraid
To take the final leap,
So, having set foot in the glade,
I’m overcome by sleep

And dream I’m holding in my arms
A woman made of cloud,
Who tucks away her worldly charms
Beneath her floral shroud,

But, when the light of morning breaks,
She treads the path which freedom takes.

Photo by Patrick on Unsplash

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