Beyond a window and picket fence

Glittered rose of tinks and sparkles ,

Mirror image of my soul.

And like the sun with the stars,

Gold, rainbow and pinks.

I’ve been wishing on the stars,

Clouds covering the moon sometimes.

Alive shining but not a Milky Way

Like a sequin heart butterfly;

What is beyond this window,

What is past these walls?

A golden thread of hope.

I am nature and nature is me.

Like the roots of a tree,

And lest, there is a tree!

With the sunshine

Standing like a place for shade.

For those catching rest from summer rays,

And a rock for sitting along the way by a passerby.

As it belongs as the backyard of none,

But my neighbors, which of,

Is for everyone.

Such rocky sand like earth beneath my feet,

And when it has called for me,

Like a Kodak moment,

And memories fading like sounds and shades.

Shapes and roses, and sentimental things.

Oh this Las Vegas heat, these desert winds.

With imagination running like wild horses past these homes and trees,

Further than the eye can see.

Aside from the sun making the way in the spaces of my window,

Ode the art of poetry.

The tinks of the stars while the sun is setting before dawn,

Reflections of the sun,

The earth, music and me are one.

Somewhere beyond this picket fence,

This blank space around me,

And the sun breaking through the houses before the night is young.

The stars sparkle and the moon shines.

Somewhere above me is the moon, when there is those times I would see without walking beyond seeing none.

With a desert breeze, the wind wispers through the cracks and trees.

These are some of the things I see beyond a window, and beyond this tree.

These homes, this sand, the rocks and trees with a wanderlust for adventure inside.

I am one with the nature one with the sun and the breeze wether ever so softly or surround me.

Beyond the window and the picket fence is a world waiting to be wondered.

Because I am a winner sometimes when the night has come a shining array sparkles.

They say “Those who stay at home, only read a page,”

This world is a book and I will read the chapters. Beyond a window is a work of art.

The univers a canvas and I am a painter.