Her mind is a butternut squash,
tender and sweet,
its thoughts tangled like vines,
woven through the labyrinth
of orange and gold.
In her dreams, butterflies
sip nectar from the flowers
that bloom on her hair,
each petal a whisper of wisdom,
each stem a song of serenity.
The sun rises in her thoughts,
a golden orb of possibility,
casting shadows that dance
in the corners of her mind,
where secrets are cradled
like seeds in the earth.
Her laughter echoes
like a chorus of songbirds,
each note a ripple in the air,
a melody that weaves
through the fabric of her spirit,
bright and boundless.
In the twilight of her musings,
stars bloom like daisies,
their light a gentle guide
through the forest of her imagination,
where cows graze on moonbeams
and cats whisper in the trees.
Her fears are shadows,
ghosts that flit through the dusk,
dispelled by the dawn of her courage,
a beacon in the night,
a lighthouse in the storm.
She walks through fields of thought,
each step a dance,
each pause a reflection,
her feet leaving imprints
on the sands of eternity,
trails that lead to worlds unseen.
In the garden of her consciousness,
roses bloom in the winter,
their petals a testament
to the magic she holds,
a wonderland of colors
where dreams take flight.
Her sorrows are rivers,
flowing gently through the valleys,
their waters a mirror
to the sky of her soul,
reflecting the storms
and the rainbows that follow.
In the stillness of her thoughts,
crickets sing lullabies,
their chirps a metronome
to the rhythm of her mind,
a gentle reminder
of the beauty in the quiet.
Her mind is a butternut squash,
tender and sweet,
a harvest of thoughts,
a bounty of dreams,
each one a gem,
each one a light.
© Richard Gordon Zyne 061324