In My Dream (II)

                         I heard the whimper of a cub

                         who sat upon a log

                         on a dappled day

                         when the air was brown

                         and the leaves tickled the sod

                         A ghostly gazebo

                         shed its shadows

                         across a moonlit landscape

                         where once I spread my wings

                         the swing now empty

                         swayed in the breeze

                         silent and alone

                         to a haunting melody

                         I searched for an orange

                         I could not find

                         The whimper  then

                         changed to a snort

                         I awoke to a gray room

                         to a rustle of curtains

                         the air was still

                                                 Jack Mashman

                                                 1992