Most of the times, *

Most of the times,
Finding wind chimes
Creating mellifluous music
Through the air that licks
My skin, as i go traveling,
From one place to another,
Like a light Borne feather,
i fail not to wonder and see
The sky white and blue mild,

yes, how i find you and your child,
Me that is, said and done,
Like a breezy cool morn,
In the Vast oceanic sky,
And then, sudden quite,
I find you , too, standing on the grass,
Right upon our beautiful earth
Like a painted dream, soft and fluffy,
A Tree, so translucent, heavenly,
That I wish to go there, there where
You me your kindred soul show,

A tree, so soft and fluffy,
Like those clouds cottony,
Like my self feathery,
And you envisioning me.

(*Note: upon a painting by a beautiful artist and Painter Mark Saenger, Courtesy: Keith Linwood Stover & Iulia Gherghei)