Written by Joyce Greene
4/26/08

I still clap for Tinkerbell.
Golden fairy dust
Clings to me like a silk gown.

I soar aloft on swift wings.
With closed eyes, I glimpse
What seems a painted picture.

Soft clouds dim the setting sun.
On the sea, a sail,
Gliding towards ominous rocks.

Suddenly, a star explodes.
The pink horizon
Sparkles with showering lights.