There’s a sparrow in the apple orchard
Sipping dandelion wine,
Singing of a dream I had,
A prophecy of Fate’s design.

There’s a sun-streak through the canopy,
A glimmer through the morning mist,
A promise of imaginings,
Of hopes and chances reminisced.

There’s a tulip in the onion field,
A sane word in a Van Gogh print
Seen only by dark eyes that hold
Fiery sparks from virgin flint.

There’s a dewdrop on the spider’s web,
That glistens in the setting sun —
A whisper from the checkered past
Of indiscretions all undone.

There’s a heartbeat in the catacomb
A trace of life beyond the pale,
A furtive breath, a wistful sigh,
To set the course and fill the sail.

There’s no sign from any oracle,
No voice, just echoes in the dark;
Who else could know but you and I —
It is from here that we embark.

Published in this month’s issue of The Wagon Magazine.