BY THE GORGE

Here is the finest place for grass-laid resting,

And in fixed timid stare your gaze appending,

Thinking of nothing, wanting nothing, nestling

Your head onto the grassy pillow…sending

The spilling clouds ahead till they’re submerging

Beyond the hilltops… All for your cajoling,

Buzzing of insects, grass, clumps, upward surging,

Butterflies’ languid flight… Past your lids scrolling

A glint as though from water bright flash captured.

A peace quite unbeknown by your head posing.

You grasp how the deceased may dream, enraptured,

The earth’s own lullaby made for reposing.