A lovely day, a hoped for hour,

a wordless thought then soft charade

of shadows dancing on the wall —

wind in night’s trees, the lovebirds’ call

and slow moon rising through dark skies

that filled with clouds and evening’s shine.

There, then, on that eternal night

when spirits dreamed of secret flight

to summer shores at winter time,

when songs spoke poetry with rhyme

and green earth danced to madrigals —

a wind-harp played and a child’s drum —

we saw life under Eden’s trees

inside a garden washed by rain

upon the white sea’s shell-filled shore

where mountains meet and valleys curve

a fern’s glade under the full moon

part of a painter’s paradise.

A lovely day, a hoped for hour,

when spirits dreamed of secret flight

upon the white sea’s shell-filled shore.