Two hundred or more wept from a single breeze
all wrapped tight within the white of velveteen cotton,
wild cocoons born in flight from our Cottonwood Tree.
They fear no lie as they steal time with feminine dignity,
with a freedom to envy, with a grace to be shared.
Their sublimes waltz into any eye, blessing by tranquillity,
her nomadic gypsies finally flying free on the whims of wind.
I have become part of their beautiful and happily without choice.
My body is natured, befriended within her coat of maternal ease
and my soul at content, carried in zig-zags to the heaven of clouds.
In tomorrows I will return to you with truths,
of far off valleys and Cottonwood dales,
of family blankets of pure summer snow,
of concentration, creation and continuation.
For every eye transfixed by your white floaty things,
I thank you for your (not so) wooden heart.