Pipe Dreams

Passing clouds of fantasy, rise from the briar bowl
Scamper along the ceiling, then disperse
Like a Hamadryad, on a dying tree
The soft cumulus without, returns to weep
Solitary droplets, splatter on the rooftops
As a rainbow arcs over the distant horizon
The sky soon clears
The cool autumn sun, shrinks with the cold
Soon, the creatures of the night
Sing a gentle serenade
As the trees stretch and yawn
In anticipation of the coming winter cold
The sun has now set
Birdsong is silenced by the hooting of an owl
As a variety of screeches, from creatures that prowl
The twilight soon becomes night
The night becomes enchanted
And possessed of a curious mystique
Mesmerised by the sight
As fairies take flight
Casting their magic, so unique.