Like an opal road,

The windy avenues of imagination,

They make up my way on this Middle World thoroughfare,

On iridescent discs I glide,

To a great green forest world,

Where the sun's prismatic rays filter through gleaming canopies,

An infant with a golden chalice smiles from the clouds,

As I return to inner depths of childhood,

In a peaceful world beneath the waters of the past,

I'm going back,

Letting go,

Dissolving into the emerald forest of Mari Ann's smile.