Beauty of clouds on canvas climb
Reaching heights of pictured time

Wind sweeping o’er the moor
Heath and briar my bedtime floor

Among the blades, I find my rest
Pillows made from flowers pressed

Comforting sighs of water’s move
Birds sing of what night will prove

Promise of peace, darkness comes
Laid out like a beautiful line of crumbs

Finding your way doesn’t mean your lost
Flowing rivers are meant to be crossed