II
REFORMATION
In my dreams I run until I am out there
In the middle of everywhere, Wyoming,
Where a hundred thousand voices sing the silence,
And clouds as big as giants expand their chests and roar!
Where there is a stillness in between
For the quiet things that sing in the smaller amplitudes
And play on the fragile strings,
Where only flowing water passes never hours
And the undulance and coolness of the stream
Shares the lovely solitude of dreams.
It is a myth the quiet place.
I waken from the illusion of the schedule
Into the shelter of the willow,
The soothing moving of the water,
And the warm enclosing arms of sun.
This poem is written by William H. Southwell
REFORMATION
In my dreams I run until I am out there
In the middle of everywhere, Wyoming,
Where a hundred thousand voices sing the silence,
And clouds as big as giants expand their chests and roar!
Where there is a stillness in between
For the quiet things that sing in the smaller amplitudes
And play on the fragile strings,
Where only flowing water passes never hours
And the undulance and coolness of the stream
Shares the lovely solitude of dreams.
It is a myth the quiet place.
I waken from the illusion of the schedule
Into the shelter of the willow,
The soothing moving of the water,
And the warm enclosing arms of sun.
This poem is written by William H. Southwell