Deep within, my world is vast,
most lies hidden, still unseen.
For the contours of the known
colour in the field of dreams.
All the substance of the mystery,
lies as through a shifting view.
It is gossamer’s seductive hinting,
that’s deplored by logic’s pride.
Music haunts the soul that’s open.
Dancing’s grace, a heart’s embrace.
In the majesty of bowing,
kaleidoscopes of life are spun.
Wonder’s kiss releases lightening.
Things so finte seem to pale.
Knowing what is only hinted,
breathes dream’s substance and prevails.
Author – Bill Tidsbury