my own
by tanner brockwell

my own
dreams come
true
enough or more
that when the dawn
crept silent
but for rustled feathers
of larks in slumber
dreamed of flight
when soared
or sleep
were that flux
the tender foot
upon a green pasture
rolling to the brook
that dappled with crystals
clearer than it seems
any diamond could ever shine
for slept in slumber
could wake to find
the world wakes anew

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