088. A Wishful Dream

I adore the strange,

the eccentrically plain; 

the weirdness of

a winter rain.

When Summer leaves

come down to play,

and Autumn seas

are as blue as can be.

I admire the trees,

towering over all the land,

able to see clearly

across distant sands.

Whilst the breeze,

fresh and calm,

hums a lovely song

that sets a mood of ease.

I could lay here,

fast, fast asleep,

with no longer a worry

for the rest of eternity.

As time wanders afar,

away from those in need

of more, more time,

I have been buried

beneath where time

may never reach;

my eternal sleep,

as I have unwillingly

fallen into a wishful dream.