1911- H. J. Haverman
I long to capture
the echo of the wind,
and the first ray
of a morning sun.
A handful or two
of fluffy clouds
after a storm has come.
The melody of a song
and the silence
of whispering
angel wings,
the gentle sigh
of a day gone by
and so many
other things.
I want to scoop up
the watery diamonds
that dance
with the reflection
of the moon,
and wrap them all up
in paper and string
and give them all to you.
I love you mom . . .
