Past the valley of thorns

I awoke in lily
White meadow,
 echoes of long  
      gone lullabies.  
 
still birth rose  
buds within
 rivers of tulips.  
 
 reminiscent of  
whispers in the  
wind, those hands
 that dance like  
   virgin wings  
 
 and how so
 Hickory bough  
    on fallen tree  
     of oak.  
   
cut up buttercups  
 in morning shadow  
     of love, dead.