As I lay awake resting in my bed
staring at the ceiling, an empty head
not a single thought enters there at all
watching the tiny flowers on the wall
they start to dance; I stare as I lay still
a fear, I’m curious, or am I ill?
Flowers parading all in long straight rows
swaying from side to side, and why, who knows
so strange to see, they say it is a dream
a little boy with lots of tales to glean
or just my vivid thoughts, or just a lie
I swear I saw but understand not why
fifty years have passed, at my mother’s bed
a wall of flowers right behind her head
unlike the little ones that I once knew
they seem so bold, they have so grew and grew
do they remember me from way back when?
for when I stared, they danced for me again.
© D Marsden 2018
Dave's blog 