Cottonwood

 

Cottonwood

Where are my words–are they lost on the wind,
that ours have suddenly gone still?
For I have found myself beneath your dreaming
and your hold on my heart is my will.
Your sway is soothing, your whispers are warm,
and there is no place rather I’d be.
Than caught beneath the comfort of your dreaming
contemplating—if you dream about me.
If your dream is a wish of a kiss that you missed
then certainly your dreaming is true.
For of all of the wished of the kisses I’ve missed
know they have all been dreamt
Of you

Charles Coakley Simpson