(written to a Welsh meter)
gilded leaves chase
a windfall's grace
to fill the space
where summer lies
with last birds' song
our nights grow long
and dreams belong
to stars and eyes
where in the blue
light, the last few
words I know true
float river cries
in dadaist
jumbles of mist -
here I exist
though others, wise,
might write of years
to winter's ears,
I�ll pen the cheers
to this sunrise
�2006 by PJ Nights
