Somewhere in a dream
in other countries, never mapped, a man was speaking
though I did not understand, there was never any plan
and I listened to the wind and rain upon the trees.
With no church bells to ring, and birds were the chorus
There in the forest, a silent steeple stood standing on it’s own
now a wild bird’s home, wrapped in thorny vines
a crown that stained, red berries bled upon my hands.
Mary was there too, she was looking through
a broken window pane, whispering my name
and too, the forest sang, bathing me in love
and with the birds I flew, silently into
a deeper dream, until I woke at dawn
to fragrant flowers on the lawn
remembering such heaven.