All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
- Edgar Allen Poe
She climbed trees bare handed and watched the ground disappear
and captured ladybugs in her hands.
She never thought to tear off their wings,
as her fleshy and loud next door friend liked to do.
The years scattered like an open box of toothpicks dropped
She was comfortable in the sunken seat cushions of knowledge
There were times when sadness took her
And loneliness, a damp towel, never dried.
Tea leaves revealed some past hurt
and her feet were always cold to the touch
In her dreams she is a gypsy barefoot on the warm sand
smiling into the deep sunset, alone and unafraid.
