The pastel sky sings the evening dreams
that rise from the sleeping trees and fields.
Soon I, too, will let go of the day and fall asleep
with flowers waltzing through my head,
wave after wave of them, oceans of gold
and green and blue washing up against
stands of water iris, lapping the roots
of the holly and the fern as wild white roses
tumble softly down on their vines.
And I will hear a lullaby of tiny bells chiming,
“Remember. Remember.”
And I will sleep well, smiling.