the oil lamp burns,
casting a solitaire shadow on the wall.
dancing and flickering,
the flame illuminates through the white wine filled glass;
looking like tiny little stars.
the South Dakota wheatfields sway;
the cool harvest breeze
infuses the open sky.
in this cozy prairie cabin,
the quills ink left these words,
and slow to dry on paper.
these words are always
about a dream that still lives –
deep and hidden;
casted aside – but never forgotten –
but always haunts.
when i wake
i have seen you;
when i sleep –
i have been with you.
under this moonlight,
and under these stars that know;
only told in stars that fall.
c. 2016 bgw