(This breathless stillness—
I must, I will break free!)
Now lucent to my eye
the purple light of glory
peeking through my shades.
Gliding from darker musings
shrouded in pain,
I will not stay, but hover,
flitting like a moonbeam through the trees,
and float starward to earth’s summit.
See the tree tops roll and sing
like green waves on a sea,
and stillness rustles in the deep
of the ocean woods around me.
As every fern delights to breath this grace,
I’ll wrap me close in balmy summerness,
and lay me down to sleep;
the choicest pillow pales beside this earth,
for, oh, what heavy peace
has settled in the dew tonight.
Miss Weaver is an artist and poet who is not at peace unless she is creating beauty and harmony.